


The Waiting Game

by Mellowphant



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Active Listening Skills, Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Eventual Romance, F/M, Female Reader, Friendship, Hate to Love, Minor Original Character(s), Politics, Puzzles, Reader Is Not Exciting, Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader is Minimally Described, Reader-Insert, She's Just A Person Doing Her Best, Soul-Searching, Soulmates, Swearing, Trust Issues, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, patience - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-10-08 14:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17388263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellowphant/pseuds/Mellowphant
Summary: When you accepted your first job offer from a reputable company straight out of college, you thought you were going to be there climbing the corporate ladder for the rest of your life. Unfortunately, things change. Monsters come out of mountains, magic stops being a fairytale, and people lose their jobs. After months of unemployment and the growing reality that Ebott is simply just too expensive for a person in your position, you move to Halfway, a pop-up town about halfway between Ebott and the monster city of Aboveground. Monsters, as it turns out, are happy to employ humans and the pay is fairly generous. The downside? Having a human work under you is more of a status symbol, so your jobs are restricted to entertainment and manual labor. You prefer manual labor.In a world that’s rapidly changing and a line of work that no longer wants you, you go on a journey of self-discovery, meeting new and interesting people along the way. It will take time and a lot of hard work, but you’re nothing if not patient.





	1. The Captain

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, readers! Is it too bold of me to assume people will read this? This is my first ever fic so please please please leave comments if you notice any areas that can be improved upon (or just if you like it and want to see more). I don't currently have a beta reader either so if you'd like to, let me know! Anyway, obviously I did not invent Undertale or Underfell, I'm just participating in the community by writing something I think is cool. Obviously this is my own interpretation of Underfell. My plan for this is for it to be a multi chapter fic, but I have no idea how often I'll be updating it. I didn't really intend for the first chapter to be so long but... oh well! I hope you enjoy it! -Mellowphant

When you agreed to join the marketing team at EbCo, you thought you were walking into your last first day of work. You thought a lot of things that turned out to be wrong. When you were three, you thought clouds were held up by tiny strings attached to stars. When you were 13, you thought you’d only ever love one person, and the constant on again off again was a sign you were meant to be together. In college, you thought that missing a few days of classes was no big deal, but you came back feeling like you had been gone a year. You thought monsters were things that lived under the bed and kept you from misbehaving. It turns out, they lived under mountains instead. As for your last first day, hearing you were fired after three faithful years hit you the hardest. You followed all the steps—went to school, did the internships, got the degree—but it wasn’t enough.

So here you are, finishing another first week at a brand-new job. Your friend Jess was… less than impressed with your new career.

“You’re a maid for monsters. _That’s_ what you’re describing.”

You didn’t bother to correct her at the time, but saying you’re a maid is far too romantic. Even housekeeper is too nice a word. You’re usually a cleaning lady, but today, you’re more of a janitor. You’ve been walking around ‘First Building’ all day in your frumpy purple uniform, cleaning floors and emptying trashcans. You’re tired and your hands are chapped from scrubbing, but you’re almost there.

You take a moment to stop and stare at the locker room door. 

This is it. The last room on the last day of your first week. Unlike your old job though, you know there will be many more first days to come. This is not a job you plan on doing forever. 

You take a few calming breaths, pulling your mind away from your situation and focusing on the task at hand. 

_It’s just this room. After this, you can go home and curl up in your favorite plushy blanket and enjoy not being on your feet. Sure, the day was difficult, but all of your hard work will make your rest tonight that much better._

You set your shoulders straight push your way in, using your back to keep the door open for your cart. It’s an intrusive, clunky old thing with a squeaking wheel. You make a mental note to look up potential fixes for that next time.

You’re hit with the scent of leather and rubber. It isn’t all that unpleasant. 

You take a moment to assess the situation in front of you, scanning the room for potential problem areas. This… isn’t what you expected. There are lockers, sinks, and mirrors of course, but the similarities end there. The walls are lined with what can only be described as weapons of war, battle axes and swords as big as your torso hanging between massive suits of armor. You know you don’t have to polish them—that’s the guard’s job—but they’re intimidating all the same. 

Taking another step in, you begin to notice the sheer amount of white fur covering almost everything. From what you’ve seen, the guard is mostly made up of dog monsters. If they’re anything like the animals you know and love, their fur is going to be impossible to completely get rid of.

You make your way deeper into the locker room and stop dead in your tracks. It’s muffled, but you hear something that almost sounds like sniffling. Whoever it is, they must not have heard you come in. You take a step back, clearing your throat loudly.

“W-WHO’S THERE? IDENTIFY YOURSELF IMMEDIATELY!” 

 _Wow. Now **that’s** what I call resonant. _The voice bounces off the walls, filling the room with sound. You know this is more than just acoustics, though. This person has no trouble being heard in _any_ situation _anywhere_. Your own voice sounds downright pathetic when you answer.

“Housekeeping!” 

The only thing you hear is the sound of boots on tile before you’re faced with what might be the tallest, and possibly most well dressed, monster you’ve ever seen. You do your best to keep your jaw from dropping as you take in the sight of him. 

 _He’s a not skeleton, just a skeleton monster_.

His smooth white bones are a stark contrast to his dark outfit, accented with a red scarf, gloves, and boots of the same color. He almost reminds you of a couture model with his broad shoulders and striking bone structure. Two red pinpricks of light stare down at you through dark sockets, a single crack running through one of them. Your eyes move to his sharp fangs which could, without a doubt, rip your throat open. Everything from his posture to his glare tells you to turn around and run away if you want to live. You should be scared.

 

 _But_ …

 

Aside from his striking appearance, he hasn’t given you a real reason to be afraid yet. There’s no sign of a threat in his face, only a slight puffiness under his eye sockets.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t realize that anyone was in here. I can always do something else and come back later when you’re finished in here.” There’s nothing else for you to do, but you don’t want to pressure him into leaving. 

He eyes you for a moment. Checking for sincerity maybe? Whatever it is, he crosses his arms with a huff and looks away.

“I _SUPPOSE_ YOU CAN STAY IF YOU MUST.”

It’s not a very direct way of saying it’s ok for you to be in here, but it’s permission nonetheless. 

“Thank you, Sir. I’ll do my best to stay out of your way, just know that you can ask me to leave at any time.” You hope that’s polite enough. 

Perhaps not. He groans and mumbles something that sounds like ‘stupid humans’ before plopping down on the wooden bench. You decide not to let it bother you too much and get started. 

Instinctively, you start to look for the toilets, only to find there aren’t any. Right. The only ones in this building are in the basement near the human breakroom. You move to the next item on your mental checklist: the floor. The tile isn’t looking too great, but you don’t have anything in your cart to help you with cleaning the grout, so you have to leave that for now and mop instead. Maybe you should ask your boss if you can have access to a motorized brush of some kind?

_I could always write a proposal for it…_

You have to stop yourself. This isn’t your old job­—there is no proposal writing, no presenting to the board, just cleaning. That’s what you’re paid to do. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you notice two red eye lights staring directly at you. For a moment, all you can feel is the intensity of his gaze, burning holes into your skull. Then, something changes. The way he looks at you is softer, unsure. His jaw starts to creak open, almost as if to speak, but something flashes across his face and he looks away. 

You shake it off, doing the same. If it’s important, surely, he’ll speak up. You go back to painting wet designs on the floor in an attempt to find the fun in your work.

 _It’s almost like a dance_ , you think, stepping in time with each twirl of the mop. _Down, right, loop up, down, right, loop up._ Each time, you offset your starting position to get the spots in between, maintaining your constant pattern. _Down, right, loop up_. As soon as you feel you’ve hit your rhythm, a voice sounds from behind you, stopping you, mid-stroke.

“YOU MISSED A SPOT.” 

_Is that what he wanted to say earlier?_

You glance up to him in the hopes of finding the answer, but he’s not looking back, a single gloved finger pointing to the supposed spot on the floor.

You straighten yourself out, responding in your kindest voice. “Thank you for pointing that out to me. I’ll get on that right away.” 

Your answer seems to be the right one, but he doesn’t acknowledge it past an annoyed huff.

It’s an odd response, especially since you tend to be receptive to criticism.

 _Maybe he’s had a particularly rough day and needs a way to vent?_  

You know all about those. You’ve been having them almost every day for the past month. You always do your best not to take out your stress on other people, but if you did, you’d want them to be understanding. You brush it aside, going back to your mopping. This time, however, you don’t retreat back into your imagination, instead keeping an eye on the monster on the bench.

He seemed upset when you first came in—not that it’s any of your business—but you _are_ a little surprised that he decided to stay here while you work.

_Different people need different things. Just because I would prefer to be alone, doesn’t mean everyone would._

Another minute barely passes before you hear him take in an audible breath. You look up to meet his gaze once more, the expectation of a question of some kind hanging in the air. This time, he maintains eye contact for longer and almost begins to say something before abruptly closing his jaw with a click. He snaps his head away from you, his face settling back into a glare as he stares down the corner again.

This time, you can’t ignore it. Despite what he seems to want you to believe, you don’t think he wants to be alone right now. It reminds you of a time when you were at the playground with a girl you had just met. You stopped to have some strawberries your mother had packed for you, and she watched you eat the first few, her eyes wide with hunger. She wanted to have some, but she couldn’t ask you; she wouldn’t, it would be rude. You gave her a smile and offered to share. You’d never seen anyone eat a strawberry so fast.

He has something to say to you. If you end up being wrong and he doesn’t want to talk, he won’t, but you won’t know unless you try.

“Excuse me, Sir?” 

“YES?” His attention is immediate and complete. You need a moment to collect yourself before you continue.

“Are you perhaps a member of the royal guard?”

His entire demeanor shifts at the question. He straightens himself up and exchanges his scowl for a smug smile.

“YES, I AM.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

At first, you worry it’s the wrong question as he goes completely still, his brow bone knit in concentration. Suddenly, he’s staring at you again, his red eye lights locked on you with that same intensity.

“DO I _ENJOY IT?_ WHAT KIND OF A QUESTION IS _THAT?_ BEING A MEMBER OF THE ROYAL GUARD IS NOT ONLY A PRIVILEGE, BUT A GREAT HONOR. TO SAY THAT ONE SIMPLY ENJOYS IT IS TRIVIALIZING CENTURIES OF HISTORY! ALLOW ME TO CLARIFY BY STARTING AT THE MOST LOGICAL PLACE: THE BEGINNING. WHEN THE GUARD STARTED BACK IN….”

He talked for the whole three hours it took you to clean the room. He rarely repeated himself—unless you asked him to, in which case he would sigh in frustration—but despite this, you noticed he always took care in explaining it the second time. He often didn’t leave much room for you to comment, but you didn’t exactly mind. It was nice to be able to listen to him while you worked. Though loud, he spoke with an infectious excitement that was hard to ignore. You couldn’t help but hang on to every word as you imagined the battles he described or the riddles solved in the nick of time. By the time you had almost finished, he was talking about the previous Captains of the royal guard, their puzzle techniques, battle innovations, and occasionally, what led to their downfall.

“FOR A GENIUS, HE REALLY WAS A COMPLETE IDIOT. WHO FALLS INTO THEIR OWN PUZZLE? ESPECIALLY ONE THAT THEY HADN’T ALREADY DEVISED A SOLUTION TO! HE _WOULD_ HAVE BEEN A STRONG CONTENDER FOR ONE OF MY FAVORITE CAPTAINS, BUT SUCH EGREGIOUS ERRORS CANNOT BE OVERLOOKED.” He stomps his foot with an annoyed huff and mumbles something about him frequenting certain establishments, but you don’t quite hear the rest. 

“Sir?”

“YES, HUMAN?” The rapidity of his immediate attention is still a bit alarming, but you’re getting more accustomed to it. His features soften as you continue to smile at him as easily as you had before. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, which Captain is your favorite?”

His face breaks into a mischievous grin, a gleam of something you can’t quite place flashing across his eye sockets.  

“ME, OF COURSE.”

You drop the sponge you had been using and it hits the tiles with a wet slap.

“Oh! I h-had no idea, Captain- sir? Th-thank you for your service!” Your body rockets forward in a bow.

You want to shoot yourself in the foot. Why was your first instinct to _bow?_ Who does that? Is that even appropriate? Should you have saluted? You aren’t really supposed to be talking to any monsters, let alone high ranking ones. What if you had insulted him? Suddenly, all of his strategic knowledge begins to make sense.

His voice directs your attention back up. It’s slightly softer than usual, a little hesitant even. “THANK YOU FOR… MY WHAT?” 

What? Oh! You had just assumed… As similar as monsters and humans can seem at times, there’s still a significant cultural divide.

“Thank you for your service? It’s what humans say to people who are in the military- uh I mean the human guard? It’s to thank them for what they do since it isn’t the easiest job.”

“WHY?”

That’s not a question you ever thought you’d hear. _Why, what? Why do you thank someone?_ You bite your thumb as you search for the best way to explain this. After a few seconds, you turn your attention back to him.

“Well, being a part of the human guard can be dangerous, and from what I’ve gathered, so is being a part of the royal guard?” He nods in agreement, eye sockets still fixated on you.  You give a single nod and continue. “Protecting the people… upholding the law… it’s a serious commitment. It takes sacrifice. But at the end of the day, we need the people who do those jobs. They keep us safe. So, when a human says ‘thank you for your service’, it’s a way of letting someone know that you appreciate those sacrifices. We don’t always see it reflected in your daily lives, but we need them all the same. Does that make sense?”

He taps his chin thoughtfully for a moment. After a few seconds, he begins pacing as he continues to consider your answer. You take the opportunity to snatch your dropped sponge from the floor. When you look back up, he’s stopped abruptly in front of you, eyes focused completely on you.

 

“SAY IT AGAIN.”

 

You swallow.

 

“Thank you for your service, Captain.”

 

There’s a slight pause as he examines your face. It’s the first time you’ve really gotten a good look at him. He has all of the features of a stereotypical villain—menacing scar, sharp teeth, angular bone structure, even the black and red color scheme he’s adopted—but there’s something else there too. Something you can’t quite describe, but you know it’s there. You can _feel_ it. He seems to be studying your face too, but his expression is one you can’t quite decipher. You’re not sure what he’s looking for, but you don’t break eye contact; something tells you he’s the kind of person that appreciates someone that holds their ground.

“I AM SIMPLY DOING MY JOB.” He holds your gaze for a second more before breaking away. “BUT YOU ARE VERY WELCOME.” You think there’s a slight dusting of red across his cheekbones as he wrings his gloved hands together, but you can’t see it clearly. 

There’s a beat or two of uncomfortable silence.

Unsure what to do, you try to make yourself busy and scan the room, looking for any spots you might’ve missed. All in all, it looks pretty good. It took a lot less time than you had originally thought (or if it did, you didn’t notice). You can’t help but smile to yourself. You have the Captain to thank for that.

“H-HUMAN!”

“Yes?” He’s finally looking at you again. His usual intensity is still there, but something about his expression is different in a slightly unreadable way.

“HAVE YOU FINISHED YET?”

“Hm?”

He taps his foot impatiently and vaguely gestures to the space around him.

“Oh! I just have the sinks and mirrors to wipe down.” 

He gives you a look that says ‘well, go on then’ and you nod, getting to work on cleaning the water spots off of the faucets. It feels a little strange being the main focus after existing in the background for so much of the week. You try your best not to think about it and direct your attention to the task at hand. You say a silent prayer, thanking the stars for Mr. Clean. If it wasn’t for these sponges, you’d be here all night.

“IS THAT AS FAST AS YOU CAN GO?”

You allow yourself a small smile as you scrub at the lime buildup around the drain. “I _could_ go faster, but then I wouldn’t do as thorough of a job. If I put in the work now, maybe next week it won’t take as long.” 

A large chunk of grime comes off onto the sponge. _Success!_ As demeaning as this job can be, you have to admit it’s pretty satisfying.

“GIVE ME A SPONGE.”

“Excuse me?”

“I DEMAND A SPONGE. AND THAT’S AN ORDER.” His voice is short and clipped, nothing at all like his previous impassioned lecturing. The very command sends an electric current through your bones and you find yourself immediately standing straighter.

You start to say ‘no’, but the word dies on your lips. Everything about him, from the way he’s standing to the way his eye sockets scan you, demands that you do as he says. You knew he could be intense—that much was established within the first minute or two of listening to him talk—but this is different. You _can’t_ disobey a direct order.

“Aye aye, Captain!”

He snatches the offered sponge out of your hands with a glare, but you’ve learned by now that there’s no real malice behind it. In fact, you suspect there’s even a hidden smile there. Before you can confirm your suspicions, he marches down the line of sinks to the other end.

You watch him, slack-jawed, as he works. He’s _fast_. He’s fast and _good_. The faucet sparkles like a diamond when he’s done with it.

He notices your stare before you can look away, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face. 

“ARE YOU JUST GOING TO STAND THERE, OR ARE YOU GOING TO CLEAN?” 

You’re not sure how it happened—there was never a declaration of any kind or even an outward challenge—but you were cleaning faster than you ever had, every once in a while, sneaking glances at his progress. He upped his speed accordingly as the two of you worked hard and fast, racing towards the middle sink. You weren’t doing a sloppy job, either. Even without communicating it, you both knew the name of the game was accuracy and precision. Yes, you had to win, but you had to do it _right_.

The wet slap of a sponge in the porcelain bowl signifies the winner. The tall skeleton stares down at you looking smugger than you thought possible. 

“I never stood a chance, did I?” you sigh, finishing up your sink with a final rinse.

“NO.” He seems _so_ pleased with himself. You want to be annoyed, but you can’t bring yourself to be mad at the guy. You’ve never seen anyone clean with such passion.

“Well, I know when I’ve been beat.” You return to your cart and grab the cloth you use on mirrors, a genuine smile still on your lips. “You won, fair and square.”

“AS IF THERE IS ANY OTHER WAY TO WIN!” He scoffs. “YOU FOUGHT VALIANTLY, BUT YOUR TECHNIQUE IS LACKING. THE FUNDAMENTALS ARE ALL THERE, BUT ONCE YOU BEGIN TO PICK UP SPEED, THEY SIMPLY FALL APART. IF YOU WERE TO TRAIN MORE, YOU COULD EVENTUALLY BECOME… WELL, NOT AS GOOD AS ME, BUT PERHAPS YOU COULD BE ADEQUATE. SEE IT’S ALL– HUMAN! WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING?”

You’re on your tiptoes, trying your best to reach the tops of the impossibly high mirrors. You suppose it makes sense; if the Captain’s size is anything to go by, they’d need them to be tall. Still, they were not built for humans. _Even if humans are the ones who end up cleaning them._ You brush that thought aside. You chose to work here, how the monsters run their city is up to them. _Besides, it’s not like the human cities are well equipped to handle monsters._ Suddenly, the cloth is snatched from your hands. 

“THIS IS PATHETIC.” He reaches the upper half of the mirrors without issue, wiping down the surface with a single decisive motion. He drops the cloth directly on your head. “THERE.” 

“Thank you.” You can only blink up at him. It was surprising enough when he decided to talk to you, but helping is a whole different story.

“D-DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT! YOU WERE MAKING A FOOL OF YOURSELF. _NATURALLY_ , I _HAD_ TO INTERVENE!” 

You hadn’t done anything to deserve it. It’s not that you weren’t used to kindness—there was plenty of it in the town you grew up in—but this is the city. The fact that this is a monster city makes no difference. People are _busy_. Too busy to do things like this. You still remember the look of confusion when you had asked your neighbor who delivers the papers so you could send them a card for the holidays. Even so, you doubt something like this would’ve happened in your home town. People tend not to pay attention to the people who mop their floors. Why should it be any different here? Especially in a place with so many people leading busy lives. 

The noise of the Captain clearing his throat snaps you out of your temporary daze.

 _How does he do that? He doesn’t have a throat, does he?_  

“Well I’m all done here, so I should probably get going.” You start to pack up your cart when you notice him staring at you. Despite what looks like his best attempt at hiding it, you get the feeling that he wants to say something. You remember the way he looked when you first walked in, like there was something he needed to say, but there was no one to say it to.

“If you don’t mind walking with me, I’d like to finish where we left off earlier. The last Captain you told me about was Borion, how many Captains is that before you?”

His whole demeanor instantly shifts. “O-OF COURSE YOU WANT TO HEAR MORE ABOUT THE GREATNESS OF THE ROYAL GUARD! I AM A VERY GREAT AND KNOWLEDGABLE CAPTAIN!”

A smile spreads across your face. Sometimes just listening is enough.

He talks your ear off the whole way to the janitor’s closet. You’re already walking—so there’s no need for him to do his usual pacing—but he still manages to find a way to move as much as possible, gesturing with his hands throughout the entire story. In the middle of a tense battle scene, his glove nearly flies off entirely as he describes a particularly tricky bullet pattern. You stifle a giggle. 

“HUMAN, I FAIL TO SEE WHAT YOU FIND SO FUNNY ABOUT AN ATTACK THAT NEARLY DRAINED _HALF_ OF A MONSTER’S HP.” He’s doing his best to hide it, but you catch a tinge of embarrassment in his voice. 

You give him your best comforting smile. “I’m just having a good time, is all.”

He stops dead in his tracks. “You Are? I-I MEAN, OF COURSE, YOU ARE!” You almost miss the softness in his voice before it shoots back up to its normal volume. You’re glad you didn’t.

He moves with more energy in his stride after that. 

You stop outside of the revolving glass doors of the building and wait for him to finish this particular story about the inventor of self-shifting puzzles. 

“OBVIOUSLY, THIS TECHNOLOGY WASN’T SUSTAINABLE. THERE WAS NO WAY TO EFFICIENTLY MOVE PARTS TO DIFFERENT PLACES IN THE UNDERGROUND SO THE TREND EVENTUALLY DIED. STILL, WE USE SOME OF THE MORE REVOLUTIONARY COMPONENTS IN OTHER WAYS.” 

While he tries to think of an example he can give you, you take the opportunity to interject. In his excitement, you doubt he’s noticed that you’ve been standing outside for a good five minutes. 

“I don’t know which direction you’re headed in, but I have to walk down towards B4 to drop off my time card before I head home for the night.” 

“NOT TO WORRY HUMAN, I WILL ACCOMPANY YOU ON YOUR JOURNEY HOME.” He strikes a rather heroic pose and for a second, you swear you see his scarf flapping in the wind like a cape behind him. “BESIDES, I KNOW A FEW SHORTCUTS.”

You’ve always had a great sense of direction. You could go to a place once and find your way back again without needing to consult a map. You have a clear mental image of Aboveground from the wall to the Royal Estate and could give anyone directions if they asked, and you had only been working in the city for one week. All that being said, you had _no idea_ where the Captain was taking you.

He seemed oblivious to your distress and continued lecturing, simply yanking on the collar of your uniform to keep you on track. Every turn he took seemed to be in the total wrong direction and the streets you walked down were so impossibly nondescript that you couldn’t make out any landmarks. You were starting to genuinely worry that you had been kidnapped when you came upon the familiar sight of Muffet’s. You had never been so close to weeping for joy.

He leaves you to take a call while you slide your timecard into its designated slot. When you return, he’s arguing with someone on the phone. 

“IT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS WHERE I AM! …… W-WELL MAYBE I HAD _WORK_ TO DO! I HAVE A _VERY IMPORTANT_ _JOB,_ YOU KNOW! SOMETHING _YOU_ WOULD KNOW NOTHING ABOUT!” 

He seems _really_ worked up. Foot stomping. Arms flailing. Pacing. Everything all at once. You can’t make out the voice on the other line. For a moment, you wonder how far away the other person has to hold the phone in order to not go deaf.

“I OUT-RANK YOU!” He slams his phone shut with a loud clat. 

_Is that a flip phone? Wow._

You cautiously approach him, being sure to make enough noise so that he knows you’re there. “Hey, are you ready?” You stand back, prepared to give him space. You only heard half of the conversation, but it seemed like a stressful phone call. 

He brushes past you completely, only stopping when he sees you aren’t following.

“LET’S GO.” He growls.

He doesn’t even wait for you to catch up, leaving you to jog in order to keep pace with his long strides. The rest of the walk is silent. 

You make it to the wall in record time. 

“UNFORTUNATELY FOR YOU, THIS IS WHERE I LEAVE YOU.” He seems to have loosened up slightly, but the atmosphere is still tense. You don’t want to leave things on a bad note, but you think talking about it would only make things worse. You settle on a gentle stroke of his ego.

“Thank you for escorting me, Captain! It was very kind of you.” Even though your smile is a bit for show, you hope he can still see the genuine feeling behind it. 

“I WAS MERELY ENSURING YOUR SAFETY. IT _IS_ A PART OF MY JOB.” No matter how much he tries to downplay it, you can still see the faint glow of red emanating from his cheeks. You pretend not to notice.

“Well, thank you for doing your job then. It was a pleasure talking to you!”

He waits until you have your back turned before he sprints away, leaving you alone at the checkpoint.

 _I didn’t even catch his name_. You sigh, rummaging through your bag in search of your ID card. You suppose you can always look it up. 

With a swipe of your card, you make your way through the gate, leaving Aboveground behind you.

* * *

Papyrus filters through the mail on his desk, organizing it in three neat piles in front of him. Application. Application. Policy Notice. Application. Weekly statistics report. Application. His eyes stop on a little blue envelope. A mistake?

No, his name is clearly printed on the front in… neat, half-cursive handwriting? Who would send him a letter that writes like that? Alphys has _horrendous_ handwriting and Undyne’s unruly scrawl is somehow _worse_.

Is it… a threat?

Unlikely. The letter had to pass through security to get here… Besides, any attempt on his life through a flimsy piece of paper is bound for failure.

Regardless, he opens it with caution, running his sharp claw under the seal. The envelope remains completely intact when he pulls the card out.

 

It’s…

 

…

 

Completely Idiotic. The Stupidest Thing He’s Ever Seen. And it’s certainly _Not_ SomethingHe’sPlanningToReadAgainWhenHe’sInHisRoomAtNight. _Not_ at _All_. 

“Worthless…” he mumbles as he puts the letter in his desk drawer to keep forever.

 

It’s–

 

He should–

 

This is a matter worth investigating. Yes. It is perfectly reasonable to investigate a letter personally addressed to him in wonderfully neat handwriting. There could be something sinister hidden in all of those perfect loops and curls. It’s guard business. It has Nothing to do with the smiley face in it and it Certainly has Absolutely Nothing to do with the fact that it’s signed with ‘your friend’ at the end.

He needs to pay Muffet a visit.

 

* * *

 

The spider lets out a sharp squeak when he bangs on the door to her office. However, her scowl softens to gleeful grin when she locks eyes with the Captain.

“Why, hello _Captain Papyrus!_ To what do I owe the pleasure?” She gives an affected laugh, all five of her eyes glittering up at him. He just _knows_ she uses magic to do that. 

“IT’S STRICTLY GUARD BUSINESS, MA’AM.” He states, doing his best to ignore the little monster below him. 

She simply giggles, constantly shifting herself to be in his field of vision. “Oh _Captain_ , we’ve been _over_ this! Feel free to call me Muffet.”

He doesn’t give in to her teasing. Not today. He’s here for work, not a friendly chat.

“I NEED THE NAME OF ONE OF YOUR EMPLOYEES. SPECIFICALLY, THE ONE WHO CLEANED THE GUARD’S LOCKER ROOM THIS PAST FRIDAY.” 

“Straight to business then? _Fine_.” She rolls all of her eyes and makes her way over to the computer on her desk. It’s quite impressive how she manages to give him an annoyed glare, keeps her hands on her hips, _and_ search the database with fast and furious typing. If he wasn’t already a perfect monster—which he so _clearly_ is—he wouldn’t mind another pair of arms.

Muffet grabs a sheet from the printer and makes her way over to him, pulling it just out of his reach as he goes to grab it. 

“Is there something I should know about?”

“IT’S GUARD BUSINESS!” he huffs, reaching for the paper. She switches it to her other arm with ease, completely unbothered by his attempt to grab it.

“ _Papy!”_ She whines, always keeping the sheet just out of his reach.

He crosses his arms, pointedly looking away from her. “ _IT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!”_

She inches closer to him, her small frame only inches away from his own. He’d never admit it, but she can be very intimidating when she wants to be.

“You’re not going to scare _another_ one of my humans by calling to tell them that their job was _far_ from adequate, _are you?”_ Her eyes narrow on his face, ready to detect any sign of deception.

“I REFUSE TO DIGNIFY THAT WITH A RESPONSE! ... And For Your Information, Those Calls Were Completely Justified _._ ”

She throws her head back in laughter and Papyrus feels his magic climbing to the surface. “Ahuhuhu! I’m _sure_ they were, Papy.” She hands him the paper with a satisfied smirk. Now that she’s gotten her reaction, there’s no need to play any more games.

“You have _impossible_ standards, you know.” She teases, her fangs gleaming in what he knows is a well-meaning smile.

“I AM AWARE.” He turns to leave the office but hesitates in the doorway. 

“MUFFET?”

“Hm?” She looks up from her screen, all eyes staring at him expectantly.

“SHE DID A PERFECT JOB ON THE MIDDLE SINK.”


	2. Puzzles In The Park With Pap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet your favorite Royal Guardsman for some training

After last week, you thought you had officially done the craziest thing you would ever do. Again, you were wrong. Apparently, taking this job was only the tip of the iceberg. You’d been cleaning a new place almost every day, and no two monsters seemed to want the same things. Of course, there were the basics like vacuuming and dusting—a word you learned has a _very_ negative connotation in Aboveground—but other than that, you’d found monsters can be extremely specific in their instructions. One monster requested that you iron the curtains while another specifically told you to never touch the curtains. You even re-alphabetized someone’s book collection the other day. Still, even after all of that, this takes the cake. 

It all started with a note on your schedule to head to Uniforms before going out to start your shift today. It was a little odd, but it’s only your second week so for all you know, you have to get new uniforms relatively frequently. As it turns out, Muffet has a special client who loves employing humans but has a rather specific dress code. The whole thing feels more like an elaborate costume than a uniform. It was impractical in almost every way, and you can’t help but imagine tripping over the skirt and spilling an entire bucket of mop water. You thought you were cleaning floors, not working at an amusement park. Apparently, you’re doing both.

The MTT resort is equal parts hotel and human petting zoo, something you learned promptly upon arriving there. It’s covered in signs advertising an “authentic human experience,” which you can only guess means there’s a meet and greet, or performance of some kind. “Authentic” is a stretch. The people around you are dressed like no one you’ve ever seen in real life.

_It’s like someone watched anime, concluded it was the peak of human culture and advertised it as real human history._

There are various people in elaborate outfits, monsters lining up to greet them like Disney characters. This is it. Cleaning in an over-exaggerated maid outfit is the craziest thing you’ve ever done. At least the skirt is long enough to cover everything. That isn’t something all of the other humans here can say.

The décor is something else altogether. If you didn’t know who Mettaton was before coming here, it wouldn’t have taken long to find out. His likeness can be found in every corner, whether abstracted in a painting on the wall, in beautiful marble statues, or even printed on the wallpaper. It’s such an overwhelming experience just to be there. The guests clearly love it, as almost every room on your assigned floor has been booked, but you can’t say it’s something you’d ever go for. The emphasis is clearly on spectacle and showmanship, which you can respect, but has never really been your cup of tea.

Even with the extravagance of it all, it isn’t entirely a bad experience. You get to clock out around 5 when the next shift starts, which is much earlier than usual. You suspect it has something to do with all of the attention you get working here, but you aren’t complaining. Of course, it’s a little strange having monsters pose in front of you, or even take your picture while you vacuum, but they are generally polite so it’s not too disruptive.

You’re making good progress sweeping up the glitter that seems to cover every inch of the floor when you’re startled by a familiar voice behind you. 

“HELLO, HUMAN.”

You nearly drop your broom in surprise. “Oh! Hello, Captain! I didn’t expect to see you here!” He looks different, having exchanged his relatively casual clothes for polished armor. He seems to be carrying himself with more dignity, in a way you didn’t think possible. He eyes you and you feel your face start to burn, remembering the state of your ‘uniform’. 

“I WAS SIMPLY PASSING THROUGH ON SOME GUARD BUSINESS. WHY ARE _YOU_ HERE?”

The question feels like an interrogation, but you try not to let it bother you, answering easily with a friendly smile. 

“I’m just working,” you say, twirling the broom for emphasis.

“GOOD.”

He offers nothing further, leaving you to stand there for a moment in awkward silence, shifting in the scratchy material of your skirt. 

“I RECEIVED YOUR LETTER.” He doesn’t look at you, staring straight ahead. 

“Right! The letter!” You realize it might’ve come across as a little strange, but you felt compelled to send it. You can’t tell if he’s upset about it or not. If he were upset, he’d tell you, wouldn’t he? Or maybe he wouldn’t have even stopped you today in the first place. Still, you feel like an explanation might be in order. He’s obviously waiting for you to say something, focused on a painting depicting Mettaton as Venus coming out of her clamshell. You take a deep breath.

“I just wanted to thank you for taking the time to talk to me last week. I’m sorry if I overstepped any boundaries by writing it…”

“NO.” His response is so immediate that it catches you off guard. “I MEAN, YOUR LETTER WAS… FINE. THERE IS NO NEED TO APOLOGIZE.” 

“O-oh ok!” 

He doesn’t say anything, still staring at the gaudy painting. Finally, he turns to look at you, wearing a hard and unreadable expression. “WHEN WILL YOU BE FINISHED?”

“I’m sorry?”

He groans, gesturing around him. “HERE. WHEN WILL YOU BE FINISHED?” 

“Oh! You mean with work?” 

He rolls his eye lights and taps his foot impatiently. “OBVIOUSLY.” 

“I clock out around 5.” 

“GOOD. THEN I WILL MEET YOU IN THE LOBBY AT THAT TIME.” He turns to leave, and you find yourself staring after him.

It takes you a moment to realize that whatever just happened was his way of asking you to hang out with him after work. It happened so fast and was stated with such confidence that you had implicitly agreed, having nothing to say in protest. 

“Wait! Captain!” 

He stops and turns around to face you. It’s hard to say for certain, but in that moment, you swear he almost looks nervous.

“Is it ok if you meet me at Muffet’s instead? I want to have a chance to change out of my uniform.” 

You see relief flash across his face before he straightens himself up again, shooting you a glare. “FINE. MUFFET’S AT 5:20 THEN. DO NOT BE LATE.” And with that, he swiftly turns around and disappears down the hall.

Just when you thought your day couldn’t get any stranger, you were proved wrong yet again. You should really stop making assumptions like that. You throw it off with a shrug and go back to sweeping copious amounts of glitter into the dustpan, your mind swimming with possibilities of what could happen after work.

 

* * *

 

As promised, he’s outside of Muffet’s precisely at 5:20. Even among the crowd of monsters and people, he’s easy to spot, towering over most of them. He’s no longer wearing his armor, and for that, you’re slightly relieved. His armor is no more intimidating than his regular attire, but still, standing next to him in your plain outfit would’ve made you feel incredibly out of place. 

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” you say with a smile, walking over to greet him.

He starts to say something but stops to check his watch. “YOU ARE… EXACTLY ON TIME.” He seems surprised but quickly dismisses it, straightening his watch. “DON’T EXPECT ME TO REWARD YOU. BEING ON TIME IS THE BASIC STAPLE OF COMMON COURTESY.”

“Of course, it is. I actually like to arrive places 15 minutes early. I just feel so terrible being late for anything…” There’s nothing you hate more than walking into a room full of people that turn to look at you when you go to take your seat. You would never fault someone for being late, feeling perfectly content to wait for them, but you hate being the reason someone else is kept waiting. It feels rude, especially when being on time only requires a little extra effort and planning on your end.

“So,” you say cheerily, breaking up the silence. “What would you like to do?” You had been running scenarios in your mind all afternoon, but his request was so unexpected that it could be anything at this point.

“WE ARE GOING TO TRAIN.”

Despite starting the conversation without expectations, you’re still surprised and mildly worried by this remark. 

“I’m really not dressed for something like that…” Even in the comfort of your own clothes, you’re not fit for doing any kind of strenuous physical activity. Your shoes aren’t suited for running and your jeans provide little flexibility outside of regular walking or a light jog.

He eyes you up and down, clicking his tongue. “OF COURSE, YOU ARE. DON’T BE RIDICULOUS. WHAT YOU ARE WEARING IS PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE TO SOLVE PUZZLES IN.”

Oh. Oh!

You can’t help but feel a little relieved. From what he had described to you during your last conversation, a lot of Royal Guard training involves practicing summoning attacks and dodging intricate bullet patterns. It sounds incredibly dangerous to you, especially since that kind of fighting can easily kill someone. You don’t know what you would’ve done if he had pulled you into an encounter, expecting you to hold your own. Of course, he would’ve gone a little easier on you, right? Then, your thoughts shift to the puzzles surrounding the city wall, which look difficult and physically demanding. He wouldn’t put you in a position like that, would he? Before your mind can wander too much in an attempt to imagine exactly what kinds of puzzles he might have in mind, he pulls on your arm, directing your attention back to him.

“LET’S GO.” He starts to walk towards a side street but you stop him, planting yourself firmly on the pavement. 

“Is it ok if we don’t use any shortcuts? I’d like to know where we’re going.” 

He huffs in annoyance but thankfully obliges. You let out a sigh of relief, feeling your shoulders relax. You were already a little nervous going into this; you’re glad you won’t have the added anxiety of feeling completely lost.

He starts walking down the main street and you break into a light jog, doing your best to keep up with his naturally longer strides.

Now that you can see the city properly without dodging down confusing side streets, you’re able to appreciate how nice Aboveground really is. It doesn’t have the same charm as Halfway’s street corners, decorated with beds of little golden flowers, but it does have the same architectural cohesion. Of course, the design of the buildings isn’t all that important, but it’s nice to look around and feel like all of the structures belong together. It’s very well organized as well; the streets being laid out on a clear and easy to navigate grid system. Aboveground is a relatively new city, giving it the opportunity to benefit from the organizational failures of older ones.

“HUMAN?” His sharp voice brings you out of your introspection. 

“Yes?”

“WHY… WHY ARE ALL HUMANS DRESSED LIKE THAT?” He points to a group of people walking on the opposite side of the street. 

At first, you aren’t sure what he means. They’re all wearing different outfits and styles. With the exception of the MTT resort, it seems like human and monster fashions aren’t wildly different. Monster clothes tend to be in a wider variety of shapes and often sport a varying number of armholes, but they generally look the same as any clothes you’ve seen.

“I MEAN, DO HUMANS NOT WEAR ANY OTHER COLORS?” 

Oh. It’s less about the style and more about the fact that every human in Aboveground wears purple. It’s a slightly awkward topic of conversation to be having, but you answer him nonetheless. 

“It’s a rule that all humans in Aboveground have to wear the Queen’s colors.” 

“WHY?”

That’s a good question, and one you don’t have a good answer to. You had always assumed that it served as a deterrent, like the puzzles around the wall. The more restrictions you place on humans in the city, the less likely they are to visit. You’ve also gotten the impression that it partly shows ownership, almost as if the Queen is saying “when you work in my city, you belong to me.” You decide not to voice this to him, settling for a shrug. 

“Maybe it’s for safety reasons?”

You’re sure it generates a lot of revenue too since there are only a few specialized stores that sell the ‘approved’ clothing. Overall, it’s not too terrible of a policy. You can still mostly wear what you want, as long as it’s the right color and has the delta rune symbol pinned somewhere on it. There tends to be a lot of variation, most humans finding a way to customize their outfits to reflect their own personal style. More than anything, you find it strange and vaguely annoying. 

The Captain merely hums in acknowledgment, staring off in thought. 

You can’t help but wonder if he thought that humans just really liked purple for some reason, or maybe that they couldn’t see other colors. 

“I AM SURE QUEEN TORIEL HAS AN EXCELLENT REASON,” he finally concludes. “HOWEVER, IF I WERE IN YOUR POSITION, I WOULD SUCH A LAW TO BE VERY LIMITING.”

“It’s really not so bad! I’m only in Aboveground during the week, most of which is spent wearing a uniform, so it really only matters when I’m going to and from work. Besides, I can wear whatever colors I want in Halfway.” 

“HALFWAY IS A CITY OF TRAITORS.”

You think for a moment, trying to find a tactful way to respond. The monsters that _do_ live in Halfway somehow defected from the Queen’s rule, choosing to instead implement their own hybrid government with the humans they live with. From what you gather, it’s still a relatively touchy subject and you aren’t looking to offend anyone.

After a while, you settle on “it’s cheap.” It’s the whole reason why you moved there. Still, it’s not entirely representative of your experiences there. 

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW ANYONE CAN LIVE IN THAT FILTH.” 

“There are some parts that really remind me of Aboveground. Of course, there are monster districts and everything, but I mean beyond that. It has a certain… character to it? I can’t explain it, but it’s nice.” You hope that’s enough to paint a clear picture without running the risk of upsetting him with more details.

He seems to take it well, listening carefully to your explanation, but in the end, he says nothing in return. The conversation seems to end with that. 

After a moment of silence, he comes to a dead stop. You almost crashing into him from behind. 

“WE’RE HERE.”

It looks like a park of some kind that takes up almost two whole blocks. It’s beautiful, lined with incredibly tall pine trees, their green branches shading the pathways below. As you pass under them, you can’t help but stare at the sheer girth of their trunks. It’s wider than any tree you’ve ever seen.

“THEY’RE AN UNDERGROUND VARIETY,” he supplies, noticing your interest. “THERE WERE A LOT OF THEM IN SNOWDIN.”

You wait for him to tell you what a ‘snowdin’ is, but he offers no further explanation. 

As you walk farther into the park, you can’t help but notice the flower beds filled with strange plants and flowers, half of which seem to be glowing. You wish you had more time to get a better look at them, but his pace is unrelenting, leaving you only a few fleeting glances before you have to move on. You make a mental note to come back someday before jogging to catch back up. Eventually, you reach a large clearing in the trees with a playground in the middle.

“THIS IS WHERE WE WILL BE TRAINING TODAY.”

Standing right in front of it, you still can’t imagine how this will make for a good place to train, even if it is just solving puzzles.

“What exactly will we be doing, Captain?”

“PAPYRUS.” 

“Hm?” 

“MY NAME IS PAPYRUS.”

“Oh, ok! What will we be doing, Papyrus?” His name feels strange on your tongue, but it seems to suit the situation much better. As proud as he seems of his status, you can imagine it getting annoying after a while. 

“PUZZLES.” 

It doesn’t really answer your question, but at this point you know he’ll explain it when he gets to it.

“THESE ARE MAINLY FOR MONSTERS STILL IN THEIR STRIPES, BUT SINCE YOU ARE A NOVICE, I AM SURE THEY WILL BE SUITABLE FOR THIS SITUATION.” 

“You mean this is just a puzzle park for kids?” 

“WHAT ELSE WOULD YOU HAVE THEM DO? TRAIN WITH THE ROYAL GUARD?”

His reasoning is solid, but still, the whole situation feels so foreign to you. It looks like a playground with swings, slides, and places for climbing, but there are also large sections of the ground sectioned off filled with various traps and symbols. Before you can study them any further, Papyrus pulls you over to what appears to be a grid of some kind. The grid is broken up by a short wall that surrounds the perimeter as well as several others that break up the space in the middle. It reminds you of a half-finished maze. 

“DO YOU SEE THE X’S ON THE GROUND?”

You follow the line of his finger, pointing to the boxes in the grid. The X’s are a faint blue, but you can still make them out. You nod.

“GOOD. TURN ALL OF THE X’S INTO O’S.”

You stare at the puzzle a moment longer, still processing the information. “Can I step on them more than once?”

“THAT WOULD MAKE THINGS EASIER, WOULDN’T IT? BUT, NO. YOU WILL HAVE TO COMPLETELY RESTART IF YOU DO THAT.”

So, whatever the solution is, it has to be solved by walking along one continuous route. You assume that you can’t move diagonally, or jump over any tiles. You can’t quite explain why, but that feels like cheating. Whatever moves you make will have to be deliberate. You’re sure that whatever this puzzle is, the consequences of getting it wrong can’t be deadly—especially since it’s meant for children—so, it’s entirely possible to solve it by brute force, trying various paths and combinations and resetting if it’s wrong. But that’s neither clever nor elegant (something he told you all good puzzle solutions should be). The best strategy seems to be to solve it first, then walk it once you’re sure.

“DO YOU REQUIRE ASSISTANCE? THE BEST COURSE OF ACTION IS TO DO IT YOURSELF, HOWEVER, I _COULD_ BE PERSUADED INTO GIVING YOU SOME ADVICE.” 

You’re quick to respond, eyes still glued to the puzzle in front of you. “No hints. I want to solve it.” 

You think you see him give you a hint of a smile, but you’re too absorbed in finding a solution to acknowledge it.

You grab a stick and carefully replicate the puzzle in the dirt, giving you a better view of the whole layout. From above, it’s much easier to see potential problems and you lightly trace your finger along your suspected path.

Confident in your answer, you begin your walk. The trick, you found, was to wait. While it’s tempting to change all of the X’s in one swift motion, you have to avoid some of them, allowing you a path to go through later. All in all, it wasn’t a very difficult puzzle, but it required a little thought which made it satisfying to solve all the same. When you pass through the final X, you hear a soft ding and the circles disappear. 

“WELL DONE.”

You turn around to face him, glowing with pride. “That was fun! Are there any more we can try?”

The rest of the puzzles in the park are all similar in nature. Though requiring a certain amount of logical reasoning, they’re mostly physical in nature, relying on walking patterns, lever pulling, and button pressing. You can’t help but notice how well thought out they are. They’re perfect for kids, utilizing their playful energy while asking them to think critically.

“THIS PARK WAS QUEEN TORIEL’S IDEA. SHE SAID THAT THE CHILDREN WOULD FIND IT MORE ENGAGING TO PHYSICALLY COMPLETE THE PUZZLES THAN READ ABOUT THEM IN BOOKS.”

You can understand that. Reading is fun, but some subjects require a more direct application.

“What types of puzzles do you like best?”

“THE PUZZLES I PARTICIPATE IN ARE MORE DEMANDING THAN THESE. I DOUBT I COULD SHOW THEM TO YOU.”

Right. You forgot he has a government job that involves using puzzles as a security system.

“BUT,” he adds thoughtfully “THERE ARE SOME PUZZLES USED FOR MORE RECREATIONAL PURPOSES.” 

“I’d love to see them! I have some puzzles of my own. They might be too easy for you, but I like them.”

He stares at you for a moment, studying your face with a hard expression. Then, slowly, it softens into something less guarded. He looks unsure and you find yourself wondering if you have overstepped your boundaries somehow.

“Only if you want to, that is.” 

“OF COURSE, I WANT TO,” he snaps, abruptly looking away from you. “I-I MEAN IF I AM GOING TO BE TRAINING YOU, I MUST EDUCATE YOU IN THESE THINGS. I WILL NOT ALWAYS BE THERE TO EXPLAIN SOLUTIONS WHEN YOU GET STUCK IN A TRAP SOMEWHERE. YOU NEED TO BE ABLE TO FEND FOR YOURSELF.”

“You want to train me?”

He starts floundering, stumbling over his own words and excuses. “W-WELL I ONLY MEANT THAT PEOPLE WILL SEE US TOGETHER AND IF I AM CAUGHT ASSOCIATING WITH SOMEONE AS WEAK AS YOU– I-IT’S ONLY LOGICAL THAT– A-AND YOU’RE SO–…”

He looks so different like this, looking away from you and nervously wringing his hands together. He usually carefully chosen sentences are falling over each other, skipping from idea to idea mid-word. Even after the past few hours, he’s worried that admitting he wants to spend time with you is too forward. It’s endearing in its own way.

“Papyrus.”

At the sound of his name, his head snaps up to look at you, cheekbones glowing red. It’s almost adorable, but you could never say something like that out loud. You do your best to suppress the thought and give him a warm smile, being as straightforward as possible in your response. 

“I’d love to keep training with you,” you say in your calmest voice, maintaining steady eye contact.

He stares at you for a moment, unsure how to respond. Suddenly, he perks up, straightening himself out into his usual perfect posture. 

“OF COURSE YOU WOULD. I AM VERY GREAT AND SUCCESSFUL IN EVERYTHING I DO. AND IF YOU REALLY FEEL THIS STRONGLY, I SUPPOSE I CAN INDULGE YOU ON THIS MATTER.” 

You can only smile at him. Something tells you it will be a while before he’ll feel totally comfortable saying anything related to that again, but you don’t mind. It doesn’t change the fact that he wants to, and that’s enough for you.

The moment is interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone.

“EXCUSE ME. I MUST TAKE THIS.” He stands up and walks away from the bench, his flip phone held up to where his ear would be. “WHAT IS IT?” he snaps. 

He’s walked pretty far away from you so you can’t make out his end of the conversation clearly, but you still manage to catch the tone and cadence. He sounds annoyed and defensive. Whoever he’s talking to must _really_ push his buttons. When he comes back, the frustration is radiating off of him in waves. You ask the question before you can stop yourself.

“Is everything ok?” 

Instead of blowing you off, he looks at you with barely contained frustration. “MY BROTHER IS BEING DIFFICULT AGAIN.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that…” You think about asking if he wants to talk about it, but he doesn’t seem like the type of person who would open up so easily. 

When you look up at him again, he’s pacing in front of you, brow furrowed in concentration. Before you can even suggest anything, he begins to speak. 

“I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND HIM SOMETIMES. HE CAN BE SO…” He shakes his fist and makes a frustrated sound. “I TOLD HIM EXPLICITLY THAT I WOULD BE OUT, BUT HE STILL FINDS IT NECESSARY TO CALL ME TO KNOW MY WHEREABOUTS! _HE_ GOES OUT WHENEVER HE WANTS, SOMETIMES FOR RIDICULOUS AMOUNTS OF TIME, BUT HE NEVER TELLS ME ANYTHING! WHY DOES HE THINK THAT HE IS ENTITLED TO EVERY ASPECT OF MY LIFE WHEN HE IS HELL BENT ON DOING WHATEVER HE PLEASES WITHOUT CONSULTING ANYONE FIRST? IT’S COMPLETELY RIDICULOUS. AND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON HIS HABITS!”

He went off, venting his frustrations. His brother doesn’t do the dishes or clean his room—things you were very guilty of before you had your own place. He says something else about basements and work, but that’s all you manage to catch. You actually have to look at the ground, almost getting dizzy from watching him pace back and forth so many times. It’s a lot to take in, especially all at once. Suddenly he turns to look at you, a fierce intensity in his eyes.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY SIBLINGS, HUMAN?” 

You only shake your head in response. 

“GOOD. THEY’RE TERRIBLE.” 

You’re sure he doesn’t mean that, but you don’t want to undermine his feelings by pointing it out. There’s obviously a lot of pent-up emotions here, but you’re in no position to give advice, especially without knowing the intricacies of their relationship.

“That sounds like it’s very frustrating for you,” you offer in the hopes of providing some comfort. 

“IT IS. INCREDIBLY SO.” He folds his arms and plops next to you on the bench, stewing in his anger. 

For a while, it’s uncomfortably quiet. Every once in a while, he grumbles something under his breath but says nothing more to you on the subject.

You don’t like to see him like this, but there doesn’t seem to be anything you can do to fix it. Whatever the deal is with his brother, it isn’t something you can get involved with, especially after only knowing him for a short amount of time. Listening to him talk about it doesn’t seem to help either, as he only gets more worked up the more he goes into it. There has to be a way to turn the situation around. Maybe offer up a distraction? Suddenly, an idea comes to mind and you pull out your phone. 

“Hey, Papyrus?”

“WHAT?” His tone is so snappy and forceful that you almost recoil. It reminds you of the times you tried to ask your mom a question, only to find she was in the middle of something and was best left alone. Still, you persist, willing to put up with a little attitude in favor of a better outcome.

“I’ve been really stuck on this puzzle and I wanted to know if you’d like to help. Usually, my friend and I work through them together, but she’s been away at school and they aren’t as fun to do alone.”

He huffs and you think you can make out the light sound of bones grinding together.

“Only if you want to, of course,” you add cautiously. 

“I SUPPOSE I COULD _TRY_ , BUT I’M CERTAIN IT WILL BE TOO EASY FOR ME.”

It might be, but it’s still worth a shot.

“So, this puzzle is called ‘magic snail’.” You turn your phone so he can see the 8x8 grid displayed on it.

“THAT’S RIDICULOUS. IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH SNAILS OR MAGIC.” 

“We can call it a ‘Sudoku labyrinth’ instead if you’d like?” 

“… MAGIC SNAIL IS FINE.”

You can’t help but smile. You like that name much better too. “The numbers 1, 2, 3 and 4 will appear once in every row and column, but they have to appear in that order when you go around the grid in a spiral. Does that make sense?”

He only nods, staring intently at the screen. After a moment of silence, he points to one of the squares. “THERE IS NOTHING THERE.” 

“Why?” 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHY? JUST LOOK AT IT.” 

“You’re right, but would you explain why?”

“NO. IT IS SO OBVIOUS THAT ANYONE COULD SEE IT’S TRUE JUST BY LOOKING AT IT.” 

You mark the indicated box with a slash.

“THERE IS A 2 THERE FOLLOWED BY A 3.”

It takes you a moment to check through his work, but eventually, you nod and place the numbers in their respective spots. There’s a pause as he considers his next move.

“4 IN THE BOTTOM LEFT CORNER.”

Maybe this won’t be as collaborative of an experience as you had hoped, but it seems to be distracting him. You can sit through a few hours of him silently solving puzzles. It’s much better than the alternative, and he at least seems to be engaged. 

The rest of the puzzle continues similarly: Papyrus says a number, you try to think through the reasoning to back it up, and once you get it, you put the numbers down. 

“1, 2, 3, 4, RIGHT THERE IN A ROW.”

You stare at the half-completed puzzle, trying your best to see how he can know that many numbers at once. He’s combined a lot of steps into one, and you can’t keep track of it all. You give up and put the number where he said they’d be. He hasn’t been wrong about anything so far, there’s no reason to believe this time will be any different. You look over at him waiting for his next dictation, only to find him staring intently at you. 

“DO YOU SEE WHY THAT IS TRUE?” 

You shake your head. “Not really.”

“THERE CANNOT BE A 1 HERE, DO YOU AGREE?”

You nod your head. That was one of the first things he had established.

“AND THERE CANNOT BE A 4 IN ANY OF THESE THREE SPOTS.”

That one takes you a slightly longer to check, but it’s true.

“THAT ONLY LEAVES FOUR SPACES IN THIS ROW WHERE ANY NUMBERS COULD BE. WE NEED ALL FOUR NUMBERS IN EACH ROW, THEREFORE WE HAVE 1, 2, 3, 4 RIGHT THERE.” 

It seems so obvious when he lays it all out for you like that. It leaves you wondering how you could’ve possibly been unsure in the first place.

“Thank you.”

He huffs but makes no further comment. 

In the next two and a half hours, the two of you work through two more magic snail puzzles. He still refuses to justify most of his steps, but you noticed that he would always wait for you to mentally check his work before giving you the next number. A few times, he asked you why a certain assumption of his was correct, just to make sure you were keeping up. You were able to supply most of the information, but if you were missing a step, he’d fill it in for you. His explanations were always as concise as possible, while still being clear. It’s a very efficient style of communication and you can tell he puts a lot of thought into everything he does.

“I BELIEVE THE REST OF THE SOLUTION IS OBVIOUS FROM HERE,” he states, a smug grin spreading across his face. 

You nod, filling out the rest of the numbers and completing the puzzle.

“THESE ARE… NOT TERRIBLE. I HAVE TO ADMIT, FOR A CULTURE THAT DOES NOT VALUE PUZZLES NEARLY ENOUGH, I AM SURPRISED THERE ARE EVEN _ANY_ HUMAN PUZZLES THAT COME CLOSE TO MEETING MY STANDARDS.”

“I’m really glad you liked them! I really like puzzles with deductive reasoning. They can take me a while, but they’re always so satisfying to solve.” 

“YES, WELL TRY NOT TO BE DISCOURAGED BY MY ABILITIES. I AM VERY GOOD AT THESE THINGS.” 

You move to say something but he stops you, a momentary look of fear crossing his face.

“Papyrus…?”

“HUMAN, WHAT TIME IS IT?”

“20 minutes to 8.” His jaw clicks shut and he quickly stands up. “Why? Is something wrong?” 

“I APOLOGIZE FOR HAVING TO DO THIS ON SUCH SHORT NOTICE, BUT I HAVE TO GO.” He looks incredibly serious. In comparison to how relaxed he was before, it’s quite alarming. Suddenly, he grabs you by the shoulders, staring directly into your eyes. “WILL YOU BE OK GETTING HOME FROM HERE?” 

“Yes?” 

“GOOD.” He still seems conflicted, but eventually releases his grip on you with a sigh. “THIS IS MY NUMBER, TEXT ME WHEN YOU GET HOME.” He shoves a crumpled piece of paper in your hands with hastily written digits on it.

“O-ok. Is everything ok?” 

“YES. I SIMPLY LOST TRACK OF TIME. I HATE TO BE LATE, AS I’M SURE YOU UNDERSTAND.” 

You do.

“I’M SORRY I CANNOT ESCORT YOU TO THE WALL. WALK STRAIGHT THERE AND DO NOT STOP TO SPEAK TO ANYONE, NO MATTER HOW HARMLESS THEY MIGHT SEEM. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

You give an uneasy nod. You had never really gotten the impression that Aboveground was a particularly dangerous city, but the seriousness of his tone causes you to rethink that assumption. Muffet’s is fairly close to the wall, so you have never been this far into the city so late at night. Was this a mistake?

“DO NOT HESITATE TO CALL ME IF SOMETHING HAPPENS.”

“Is it really that unsafe?” 

“YOU WILL BE FINE AS LONG AS YOU GO STRAIGHT HOME,” he says firmly. You find his conviction comforting.

“Ok. I can do that.” 

He looks like he’s about to say something, but decides against it. “GOODBYE.”

“Goodbye, Papyrus.”

He only nods before he turns and sprints away, clearing the park in less than a minute. You can’t help but marvel at the sheer speed he runs at. You knew he had to modify his regular walking speed to accommodate for your much shorter legs, but you had no idea how _fast_ he could be. 

After a brief moment of staring off into the trees, you look down at the piece of paper between your fingers. For something scribbled on the spot, the neatness of his handwriting is actually very impressive. You save him as a contact and pocket your phone. He’ll come to help you if something happens, but you really hope it doesn’t come to that.

You start back the way you came, keeping your pace to a brisk walk. It’s fairly dark out, but you have no trouble seeing. The path through the park is lit with tiny glowing stones, not to mention all of the light generated from the strange plants in the flower beds. You desperately want to stop and look at them, but Papyrus’s warning is still ringing in your ears, prompting you to keep going without a second glance.

 _He said he’d train me more, so maybe that means we’ll come back?_ _I can look at the flowers then,_ you think.

You’re almost to the edge of the park when you hear a rustling in the bushes, stopping you in your tracks.

 _It’s probably a squirrel or a pigeon or something_. _Just keep walking._

You take a few more steps forward, maneuvering around a large branch in the middle of the path.

_That’s strange, I don’t remember that being there when I walked through here the first time._

Then again, Papyrus was moving pretty quickly and you were having a hard time keeping up. It’s entirely possible that you just didn’t notice it. You shake it off, moving a little faster than before. Suddenly, you hear a loud snap. Before you can move, you hear the crunching of gravel behind you. Your fingers twitch towards the phone in your pocket, heart pounding in your ears. You need to find the courage to turn around.

_I need to look. If I can see it, I can deal with it._

Feeling like you’re in danger is terrifying, but not knowing what could happen is worse. Slowly, you turn around to face whatever is behind you.

 

_It’s a dog?_

  

It’s standing in the middle of the path, the smashed branch underneath one of its paws. It looks like a Samoyed, only significantly smaller. It’s about the size of a puppy, but it appears to be fully grown, like someone took a usually large dog and resized it. You can’t tell if it’s really a dog or a dog monster, but whatever it is, it sticks its tongue out in a content smile. 

“Uh… Hey. Who are you?”

The dog cocks its head to the side at the sound of your voice, but as soon as you stop speaking, it smiles again. You don’t think it understood you.

It seems harmless enough, but you decide not to test it. 

“I have to go home now, sorry.” 

It wags its tail when you address it, sticking its tongue out in a blep.

 _You look like a big stupid cloud and I love you._  

You have to remind yourself of Papyrus’s warning and find the strength inside to pull away. You mouth an “I’m sorry” and turn around, continuing down the path. After a few more minutes of walking, you feel something brush up against your leg. You look down, only to see the dog from earlier, patiently waiting by your side. 

“Can I help you?” 

It beams in response, its black eyes glittering up at you. It looks so gentle and kind. You’re sure your heart would break if you had to tell it to go. Besides, if it is a monster and not a dog, you can’t exactly tell it what to do.

“Are you going to walk with me?”

It seems to perk up at the word “walk,” but other than that there’s no hint of understanding in its eyes. You suppose there’s nothing you can do if it wants to go with you, so you continue out of the park.

To your surprise, the dog continues to follow you down the sidewalk and across the street. You swear you see it look both ways before crossing, but you can’t be sure. Every now and then, it leaves your side to run into an alley and rummage through some garbage, but it always seems to find a way to catch back up with you, sometimes coming from a completely unexpected direction. Maybe it just knows the city better than you? You’re not sure how to explain it, but the dog looks a little bigger now than it did in the park.

“So, you come here often?” you ask.

The dog sneezes and prances around a little. You can’t help but giggle at the way he seems to dance from paw to paw.

“Hey, you’re good at that!”

It sneezes a few more times and makes a few short yips and half-barks, wagging its tail excitedly.

“I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t speak that language. But you’re very talented!”

The dog starts to circle, but stops abruptly, its ears perking up.

“What is it?” 

It folds its ears back, tucking its usually curled tail down between its legs. You look around, trying to find the source of its discomfort. When you look back down, the dog is gone, seemingly vanishing into thin air. The street is eerily quiet, absent of any traffic of even the hum of the street lamps. Suddenly, you hear a door slam and the sound of a bottle breaking. A rough voice cuts through the air. 

“What you did back there was very disrespectful. Did you really think I’d stand for something like that? In my own territory? At a table full of my associates? Tch, and here I thought you were a smart man.”

There’s a sound of nervous warbling and the shuffling of feet. “I-it won’t happen again, Sir. I d-don’t know what I was thinking!” 

“You weren’t thinking, and that’s a problem. I think we oughta do something about that, don’t you?”

You want to move, but your feet feel like they’re cemented in place.

_Move. Why can’t you move?_

“Aw, don’t look so upset. You’re lucky I don’t dust you where you stand. PH, take care of him.” 

That seems to break the spell, as you suddenly find yourself running faster than you ever had before. You hardly notice which path you take or how you know where to go, you just run, the buildings flying past you in a blur. You don’t remember swiping your card at the wall, taking the bus, or even unlocking your apartment door, but as soon as you step inside, you collapse on your bed, your legs shaking.

You numbly take out your phone and type a message to Papyrus before dropping it on the floor and climbing under your covers. You don’t even bother to change into your pajamas first, falling asleep with the lights still on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is chapter 2! I had a self-imposed deadline to post it yesterday, but something wasn't working for me so I changed it up and here we are! I want to thank everyone who commented and left kudos. It was so nice to read and see all of the feedback and I had this big dumb smile all week! I really wasn't expecting so many people to like this, so it was really cool to hear from all of you <3 I hope I can keep updating this sort of every week. It might be a little hard once my opera rehearsals start to pick up, but I'll do my best to stay consistent. I usually start a ton of projects and then I don't finish them, but that isn't going to happen here because I'm determined to write the whole thing!! I'm keeping myself accountable, don't worry.
> 
> While I was doing research on various puzzles for this chapter, I came across this super cool blog where I found the magic snail puzzles. They're super fun so if you're interested in trying your hand at those, here's the link for that: http://puzzleparasite.blogspot.com/2016/02/puzzle-187-magic-snail.html  
> My friend and I spent like 3 hours doing these so 10/10 would recommend. 
> 
> Also, I promise we will meet Mr. Sand Underfell soon. His introduction requires a little bit of setup, but I think we'll be there in the next chapter or two so hang in there! As always, feel free to leave any thoughts you have below. I read all of them and love hearing what you have to say!  
> -Mellowphant


	3. Research Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You do some digging and try to find a way to move forward

“Souls.” Jess says, planting her hands firmly on the table and looking across to you. “What do we know?”

“There are seven types, all with their own colors and associated traits,” you easily supply. “They’re supposed to be the culmination of your entire being.”

“Anything else?”

“Not really,” you admit with a sigh.

Jess falls back into her chair, running a hand through her brown hair. “This would be so much easier with an expert witness…”

That much is true, but you’ve had little to no luck finding one. The knowledge of souls is so new that there are hardly any people studying them right now. The reputable academics working closely with the Royal Scientist have been very tight lipped and the rest of the people claiming to know about it have so far been quacks. 

“It’s ok, though! We don’t need ‘em. We’ll find our own information and do our own research.” She gives you a confident smile. 

When you told Jess about being fired, you didn’t expect her to get so invested in it. She immediately put her lawyer skills to use, demanding to know all of the details. She even went as far as to contact EbCo and request the circumstances surrounding your termination. While she isn’t officially representing you, she swore up and down that she’d advise you on the matter. You have to keep reminding yourself that aren’t committing to anything just by looking into it. For all you know, the research could reveal that your case has no basis.

She plops her purse onto the wooden table with a loud thump. You eye the large bag, trying to imagine how she can possibly carry something so heavy on one shoulder. 

“What do you keep in there? Bricks?”

She gives you an amused smile, flashing her perfect teeth. “Case files and court documents. So yeah, bricks.” She rummages through her bag, feeling around bottom and through the various pockets. “Here!” she announces, holding up a small slip of paper. “I went ahead and wrote down a list of relevant books. You can find these ones and I’ll take the other two.”

You nod, making a quick note of what titles you were looking for.

She hums in agreement and swiftly turns away, gigantic bag in hand. You think you see her stumble a little under its weight, but she quickly recovers, disappearing into the shelves.

You turn and make your way to your own section, muttering the authors under your breath so you don’t forget them. You walk through the isles in Halfway’s “librarby,” scanning the spines in search of your titles. You and Jess have been trying to figure out why monsters seem to affectionately call it that, but haven’t done much work outside of giving each other knowing looks each time you hear it.

It’s interesting to see all of the books next to each other on the shelves, creating a collage of colors. Monster books come in all shapes and sizes, and they make some of the human books look like brightly colored toys in comparison. You locate your books relatively quickly. The books with monster authors never have last names on them.

You meet Jess back at the table, balancing an armful of books. She already has hers laid out on the table in front of her, pencil and notebook at the ready.

“Before we start,” she says “let’s just go over what we’re looking for. We want the basics. What is a soul? What do the traits mean? How are colors determined? We need terms, definitions, anything we can get our hands on really.”

You nod. This is actually something you’re quite good at. You’ve always had a knack for finding relevant information.

She plucks a book off of your stack and examines the cover. “Alright! Let’s get cracking!”

 

 

After an hour or two of silent reading, she peers up at you behind the frame of her reading glasses. “Having any luck?” 

You finish skimming the page and shake your head. “No. This looks like a self-help book for monsters.” 

“Same here,” she mumbles, pushing aside _Your Soul and You: A Comprehensive Guide to Healing_. “It’s interesting, but not what we need.” 

You drum your fingernails on the table, scanning the rest of the books. “Not to question your research skills or anything, but why did you pick these?” None of them seem particularly scientific in nature, mostly geared towards the general public.

“Honestly? This is all they had. I knew it wouldn’t be great, but I didn’t honestly think it’d be this bad.”

You pick up another one of the books titled _The Soul’s Influence on Magic_ and flip through the first chapter. “This guy mentions a series of papers by a former Royal Scientist… maybe we should read that?” 

Jess sighs, tapping her pencil on the table. “Yeah, if we can find it. It wasn’t listed in this library’s database.” 

“Well why don’t I go and ask someone about it?”

She shrugs, going back through her notes. “Can’t hurt to try.”

You stand up, making your way to the front desk.

“Excuse me, are these all of the books you have that talk about souls?”  
  
The green lizard monster’s eyes slowly drift up from her magazine, first to your face, then to the slip of paper with the list of titles in your hand.  
  
“Let me look.” The words drip out of her mouth like molasses, the flat tone enough to put anyone to sleep. You can hear the sound of her long nails clacking against the keyboard at a sluggish pace.  
  
“Can I see the list?” She drones.  
  
You hand it over and she snatches it out of your hands with a surprising force and speed. You find yourself massaging the tips of your fingers as she finishes scrolling through the database.  
  
“Those are the only ones. Sorry.”  
  
“Are there any books you can recommend? I’m trying to find out more information about human souls.”

Her yellow eyes narrow on you, looking you up and down. After a while she clicks her tongue, looking away.

“Most of the books and articles on _that_ subject are in Aboveground. You won’t find anything like that this side of the wall.”

“Thanks anyway...” It comes out as a disappointed mumble, despite your weak smile.

She gives a hum in acknowledgement, but doesn’t offer anything more, going back to her magazine. You walk back through the shelves, defeated.  
  
“Did she say anything?”  
  
“Only that this is it.” A sigh escapes your lungs as you sink back into the chair.  
  
Jess taps her pencil rapidly against the book she had been reading, a frown on her lips.  
  
“You know that can break the lead inside, right?”  
  
“Shut up, I’m trying to think,” she snaps, but you can tell she isn’t really annoyed, just trying to focus.  
  
You close your eyes and lean back into your chair, enjoying the silence and the smell of old books. The library is such a neutral place for you. As someone who could never get work done at home, the library was the best place to come when you needed to do anything. Something about the environment made you focus, and you always found you did your best work hidden away in the stacks. But even with the association of deadlines and projects, the space never failed to be relaxing for you. You could read there, watch obscure documentaries, or just have a place to go when you wanted to be out of your apartment but had nothing to do. This isn’t your library back in Ebott, but it’s still nice. You’ve been slowly getting more used to it. A small smile tugs at your lips when you notice the silence has returned. She’s stopped her tapping.   
  
After a minute, you hear her mutter something under her breath.  
  
“What was that?” You ask, slowly opening your eyes to look at her.  
  
“I said, it doesn’t make any sense. Monsters all have souls, humans all have souls, so why are there only, like, five books in this whole damn library that talk about them?! They don’t even mention humans and none of these are about what they are or how they work…” She has that look on her face, the one when she’s trying to solve a hard problem. Her brow is furrowed in concentration and she stares down the book, determined to find an answer. She starts to tap her pencil again, but stops, dropping it onto the wood surface of the table with a sigh. “I don’t get it, man....”  
  
You frown, thinking back to your experiences in Aboveground. “Well, monsters are kind of protective in general, right? I mean, they have their royal scientist working with our government directly, and they’re only releasing a little bit of information at a time.”

  
She hums in acknowledgement, but you get the feeling she isn’t really listening. After a moment of silence, she sighs again.  
  
“I’m really sorry...” The softness in her voice is one you haven’t heard in a while. It’s one she only breaks out when she really feels stuck.  
  
“Hey it’s ok! You aren’t the one who decides which books are in here.” It isn’t the most comforting thing you could say, but it’s all you can come up with.  
  
“I know, it’s just...” she takes her reading glasses on and sets them on the table, hiding her face in her hands. “I promised you I’d help you with this!”  
  
“And you are,” you state firmly. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me this past year. Seriously.”  
  
She tilts her head just enough that you can make out a smile. “Thanks. It’s good to hear that I’m doing something right... But without this information, there isn’t much more we can do. There isn’t much more _I_ can do.” She rubs her temples, her eyes still screwed shut. “I know there’s a case in there, but if we don’t have the stuff to back it up...” she sighs, slumping to the back of her chair. After a moment of contemplation, she turns to you, expression hard and serious.  
  
“What we are doing is completely new. It’s uncharted territory. I agree with you that what EbCo did was wrong, but I can’t risk my reputation by going in there unprepared. If we do this, all of our bases need to be covered. We have to be absolutely sure, or we won’t have a fighting chance.”  
  
You know she’s right. In some ways, you knew it all along. Your old job used to mean so much to you, but after all that’s happened, you don’t know that you want it back. The idea of working in a place that doesn’t want you puts a sour taste in your mouth, regardless of how wrongful the termination was. You don’t want anyone else to go through that either, but not at the cost of Jess’s career, not when she’s worked so hard to get here.

“Let’s wait.”  
  
Jess snaps her head up, a look of pure disbelief on her face.   
  
“You’re giving up? After everything that happened, you’re just going to quit?”  
  
“I didn’t say that,” you urge, your voice low and steady. “What I said is that we should wait. You know I’m not looking for a settlement–” She opens her mouth to protest but you stop her with one motion of your hand. “Jess, I don’t want anything from EbCo. _If_ we sue, we would be doing it to establish a precedent.”  
  
“Of course, but don’t you want to–?”  
  
You shake your head, effectively cutting her off. “You said it yourself, your reputation is on the line here. We shouldn’t do it until we’re ready, and until more information about souls is made public, we _won’t_ be.”  
  
She frowns at you, searching your face for a lie that isn’t there. She knows you’re right, but she’s ambitious, never being one to give up easily. You don’t have a hard time believing she has a determination soul.   
  
“So, what? We just sit and wait?”  
  
“We do what we can for now, but we shouldn’t get upset over things we can’t control. It takes time.” You do your best to sound comforting, but you can tell she’s still upset.

After a moment, she shakes her head, a smile tugging at the edges of lips. “How do you do that?”  
  
“Do what?”  
  
“Stay so calm when things are frustrating.”  
  
You simply shrug, unsure how to respond. “By keeping things in perspective, I guess.”

“You’re insane,” she mumbles. “I wish I could do that…”

“You can, it just takes practice.” 

“Says the girl who’s so patient it turned her soul blue!” she teases in an attempt to lighten the mood.

You smile, but your grin falters slightly. You want to love your soul color, you really do, but…

“Hey, it’s a _good thing._ ” Jess insists, shaking your arm lightly. “I don’t care what you or anyone else says, it’s amazing and something to be proud of.” 

“I’m good at waiting.”

“It means more than that and you know it.”

You do, but sometimes it can be so hard to understand. Who decided it was a good idea to condense the entire culmination of your being into one color and a word associated with it? After all of your experiences, everything that shaped you into the person you are now, it feels so reductive to have ‘patient’ attached next to you name like that tells anyone anything about you.

Your old coworkers loved it. Danny was quick to identify with his trait, covering his desk in little orange pictures and figures.

“If you ever need someone to save you, I’d be more than happy to oblige!” he used to joke, flexing his non-existent muscles in what must’ve been attempted heroism.

Most of them had exciting traits that somehow seemed to fit them perfectly. Kristin was integrity, and it showed in all of the work she produced. When Joe revealed he was perseverance, no one was exactly shocked. He had a quiet, steadfast nature that seemed to pull him through, no matter what was thrown at him. And you? Yours was met with an awkward “oh! Well that’s nice!”

When they let you go, they told you that you were no longer “a good fit” for the team. You knew what that meant. You were a good fit when they hired you, and you were still a good fit the month before when you received your glowing performance review.

 

Your soul wasn’t the right color.

 

It doesn’t look impressive or competitive on a résumé, and it sounds like something that would only hold the team back instead of spurring them forward towards innovation.

_“Have you ever thought of becoming a teacher or a therapist? I’m sure you would do well in a job like that.”_

You aren’t qualified for those jobs. Unlike kids today, the knowledge of soul traits didn’t exist when you started school. You didn’t have the opportunity to tailor your career around it.

_“Oh… well you could always apply to work downstairs in customer support.”_

After three years, it was a slap in the face. You politely gathered your things and left, never looking back.

You dismiss the memory, returning your focus to the present. Jess is still looking at you, a concerned expression on her face. She’s been trying so hard for you, it’s unfair to shut her out because of a little comment she made.

“Cyan,” you mumble.

“Hm?”

“It’s not blue, Jess. It’s cyan.”

A slow smile spreads across her face, filling your heart with a warmth impossible to ignore. “Cyan?”

“Yeah. There’s a difference.”

“Stars!” she groans, causing a surprised giggle to erupt from your lips. “Sounds like a glorified blue to me… And _don’t_ say it’s because I don’t have an eye for art or color or whatever!”

You know she’s setting it up for you tease her, just so she can get you to lighten up a little. You decide to play along, your eyes tearing up slightly from the gesture.

“You don’t,” you respond, unable to contain your smile any longer.

“I know I don’t, but I told you not to say it!” she scolds, laughter blooming in her voice. She once wore a green skirt red shirt combo that assaulted your eyes every time you looked at her. She tried to defend it by saying they were complimentary colors, which they are, but she looked like she had gotten dressed in the dark. That was how you came to know that she had very little idea of the nuances to color theory. 

You attempt to hush her through quiet chuckles, doing your best not to laugh any louder than you already are. “You’ll get us in trouble!”

“If I do, it’s your fault!” She shoots back, her smile wild and bright.

You needed this. You don’t care about the soul research or the potential case against EbCo, just a nice time with a good friend is enough to make everything a little better. Just then, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. 

“Who is it? Do people call you other than me?”

You stick your tongue out at her, but she’s still right. You don’t talk to that many people.

“Oh, it’s Papyrus.” You ignore the way she wiggles her eyebrows at you, holding the phone up to your ear. “Hello?”

“HELLO, HUMAN.”

“Is that him?” Jess half-whispers from across the table. “That’s what he sounds like?” You nod and her eyes grow wide, an excited smile spreading across her face.

“I HAVE ANOTHER EXCELLENT TRAINING EXERCISE IN MIND. WILL YOU BE AVAILABLE TOMORROW NIGHT?”

You can’t help but feel surprised. He’s been sending you various puzzles and riddles via text since your day in the park. How many more can he possibly have? He didn’t technically ask you if you wanted to, but you still answer like he did.

“Sure, I’d love to train tomorrow. What time were you thinking?” 

“R-RIGHT. I WILL MEET YOU AT THE WALL AT 5:00. DO NOT WORRY ABOUT BEING OUT LATE, I WILL BE ABLE TO ESCORT YOU BACK THIS TIME.” 

“Thank you, I really appreciate it.” You never told him what happened on your way home, but you feel better knowing he’ll be there this time.

“GOOD. I WILL SEE YOU TOMORROW. DO NOT BE LATE.” He hangs up the phone before you can get another word in.

There’s a moment of silence as you process the conversation. You’ve spoken to him several times now, but you still find that you need to mentally translate sometimes. He can be very direct, but you’ve found he doesn’t always outwardly say what he means. It’s a very interesting combination. 

“So that’s the Captain, huh?” Jess asks, eyeing you up and down. “I thought you said he was a talker.”

“He is.”

“So, what was that?”

You shrug. He sounded so formal over the phone, like the call was some type of business transaction. It lacked his usual enthusiasm somehow. Then again, you haven’t spent that much time with him. There’s probably a lot about him you still don’t know.

“Is it a dinner date?” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, inching closer from across the table. She knows it’s not like that, but she’d never pass up the opportunity to tease you a little.

“He said it’s another training exercise.”

“A training exercise? Tomorrow night?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?” It sounds silly to put it like that, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Papyrus isn’t always upfront with his feelings, but he wouldn’t lie. That much is obvious to you. 

“Alright, if you say so.” She says it with disbelief, but you decide not to object. She’s only doing it to get a rise out of you. Once she sees she’s not getting the reaction she wanted, she pouts, falling back into her chair. “You’re so incredibly boring.”

You smile, putting your things back into your bag. “I actually think you’d like him. His personality takes some getting used to, but you might find you two have a decent amount in common.” 

Her jaw drops open. “I am not! When have I ever talked at you for hours like that?” 

“That’s not what I meant, Jess. You just have this way about you when you’re trying to get to the bottom of something.” She starts to protest, but you give her a look and she closes her mouth. “It’s _not_ a bad thing. I actually think it’s pretty cool! You just get focused in a similar way, is all.” 

“That isn’t so bad, I guess,” she mumbles, walking with you past he reception desk.

“It really isn’t. I like your drive.”

She smiles at you, nudging you with her shoulder. “I like your patience.”

She stops you outside on the steps, taking your shoulders in her hands. “We’ll figure it out. I mean it. It’ll just be a little harder than we thought.”

You don’t think twice before pulling her into a hug. She’s been such an amazing friend to you. When you moved to Ebbot, she was the only one from your hometown you knew there. Even though you were mainly friends with her little sister growing up, she took you under her wing and treated you like family. She showed you around the city, took you out for coffee once a week, and even helped you file your taxes for the first time. When you lost your job, she helped you edit your cover letter and always sent you links to places that were hiring. It was Jess that suggested moving to Halfway, going on apartment tours with you. She’s been with you every step of the way. Even now, she’s taking time out of her busy schedule to help you. You’d be lost without her. 

The two of you walk down the steps of the library, past the beds of ever-blooming golden flowers. You’ve always wondered if they used magic to keep them alive, but you’ve never found a good opportunity to ask. Maybe someday, you’ll know the answer. Still, they’re beautiful, and by far your favorite thing about Halfway.

“Do you think you can get into the library in Aboveground?”

You turn to look over at her, but she seems lost in thought.

“They’ll have the books there, right?”

You nod, but remain uneasy. The things humans can do in Aboveground are already very limited, you don’t know what they would say if you just showed up and asked for books about such a personal subject.

“I don’t know if they’d let me,” you finally admit.

“Is there a way you can find out?”

“I suppose I could ask Papyrus…”

“Good,” she says, with a firm nod. “We need to know if we can get access to this stuff or not. Of course, if you feel like it’s a bad idea or like you might get in trouble for asking, we can always figure something else out.”

You admire her optimism, but something tells you that this is your best shot. 

“I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

“You mean at your _date?”_ You roll your eyes and she throws her head back in laughter. “See ya later, girlie!” she calls, giving you a wave before disappearing around the street corner.

Date or not, tomorrow night is bound to be interesting at the least

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is a little shorter (word says it's just over 10 pages). I spent a lot of time re-working this, but I'm finally done. Initially, I wasn't sure if I really wanted to have a chapter devoted to character building so early, but I felt like I had to establish this stuff before moving forward. I hope it's not too boring :( But now that this is out of the way, we can get to the part I know you've been waiting for! The next chapter it titled "Oh Brother." I'm sure you can all guess what that means ;)
> 
> Thank you so much for your encouraging comments! They mean the world to me. As always, feedback is welcome!
> 
> *Edit: It looks like I'll be updating this once a week. I know my other fic updates a little more frequently, but those chapters are really short and I can usually bang one out in an hour or two.


	4. Oh Brother!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You become trained in the art of lasagna

The entire walk from the wall has been mostly silent. Again, Papyrus abstains from taking any shortcuts, but this time it doesn’t help you very much. This isn’t a part of the city that you’re very familiar with. He’s completely bypassed the park you went to last time, instead of going in the direction of the more residential areas. You’ve been in a few apartments before, but this is nothing like those places. They’ve managed to fit an entire suburban neighborhood within the city walls, complete with backyards and everything. Unlike the more urban parts of the city though, each house seems to have its own distinct personality. The styles range from cottages to midcentury modern with a few Victorian and federal houses thrown in there as well. You can’t help but imagine what kinds of monsters live in each one as you pass it.

He stops in front of a large wooden house draped in Christmas lights and walks up the pathway to the front door. You feel your palms start to sweat. 

Is this where he lives? Are you training at _his house?_ You’ve got to hand it to Papyrus, he’s never once failed to surprise you. 

He stops just before putting in his key, turning around to face you. “I MUST APOLOGIZE FOR THE OUTSIDE DECORATIONS. MY BROTHER PUT THEM UP FOR GYFTMAS LAST YEAR AND HE HAS YET TO TAKE THEM DOWN, DESPITE MY NUMEROUS ATTEMPTS TO FORCE HIM.”

 “It’s ok,” you say, giving him a warm smile. “There was a house in my home town that left their lights up all year round. One of the trees in their front yard had lights around the trunk, all the way up to the tallest branch! To be fair though, I don’t know that I’d like to do something like that more than once. It was a really tall tree.”

He makes an interested noise in the back of his throat, but you get the feeling he isn’t really listening to you. His eyes dart around the front of the property as if he’s checking something. He seems nervous, but you can’t be sure. Suddenly, he pulls you close, bending down so the two of you are eye level.

“Human, You Are Going To Meet My Brother Now. He Is…” He sighs, shaking his head with frustration. “I Have To Ask You _Not_ To Engage Him, Or He Will Never Stop. Do You Understand?” 

You nod dumbly, too shocked to even make a sound. You’ve never heard him speak that quietly before. Part of you is amazed he can. 

“Good.” He releases you and stands up to his full height again, pulling a key out of his pocket. He makes a big show of unlocking the door and walking inside, purposefully making more noise than he needs to. You suppose it’s to “subtly” alert his brother of his presence, but you’re sure anyone within a 2-mile radius can hear it. It’s considerate in its own way.  
  
“WELCOME TO MY HOME.” He booms, gesturing to the spacious house around him.  
  
It’s so immaculate that it barely looks lived in. The wood floors shine so much that you can see your reflection in them when you look down. The furniture is so perfect that you would hesitate to even sit on it for fear of messing it up. There isn’t a doubt in your mind that he lives here.  
  
“I PICKED AND ARRANGED THE FURNITURE MYSELF,” he boasts, a proud gleam in his sockets. “EVERYTHING EXCEPT FOR _THAT_.” He points a gloved finger towards the lumpy green couch in the middle of the room. In all honesty, it looks like the most comfortable thing here, despite it not matching with anything else. “MY BROTHER’S IDEA,” he grumbles, rolling his eye lights. “IT’S INCREDIBLY FILTHY, YET HE REFUSES TO GET RID OF IT. SPEAKING OF WHICH… BROTHER! GET DOWN HERE! WE HAVE A GUEST I’D LIKE YOU TO MEET.” 

Silence. It doesn’t seem like anyone else is home.

“SANS!” He shrieks, stomping his foot. “DO _NOT_ MAKE ME ASK YOU AGAIN.”  
  
“what’s up, boss?”  
  
You let out a small squeak, jumping backward to hide behind Papyrus. The skeleton now standing in front of you was _not_ there a minute ago. You’re almost sure of it. He flashes you a sharp grin, hands shoved carelessly in his pockets. He seems to be reveling in your discomfort.  
  
“THIS IS THE HUMAN. HUMAN, THIS IS MY BROTHER.”  
  
“nice ta meet ya, sweetheart. the name’s sans. sans the skeleton.”  
  
If they weren’t both skeleton monsters, you’d have a hard time believing they were related, let alone brothers. They look like opposites in almost every way. While Papyrus towers over everyone, Sans is closer to your height, which isn’t saying all that much. He has a wider, stockier build and unlike Papyrus, his skull is more rounded than angular. His voice is deeper, too. It still carries some of the same resonance, but it’s warmer and more subdued. His red eye lights scan you, looking over the parts of you that aren’t hidden by his brother. You feel exposed under his gaze, but shake it off, settling for a weak smile.  
  
“well, dontcha know how to greet a new pal?” he grins, his rough voice sending a chill down your spine. “go on and shake my hand.”  
  
Before you can reach out to return the gesture, Papyrus slaps his brothers hand out of the way.  
  
“NO! I _REFUSE_ TO HAVE YOU CORRUPT THIS HUMAN WITH YOUR JUVENILE HUMOR.”  
  
Sans’s sharp grin grows wider, exposing a golden canine you hadn’t noticed before. It catches the light in an eerie way, making it impossible for you to look anywhere else.

“i don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, boss. i’m just tryin’ ta be nice.”  
  
“PUT THAT AWAY. _NOW.”_ He’s using his Captain voice, but his brother doesn’t seem to be phased by it. Sans simply shrugs and casually slides a joy buzzer off of his hand and into his pocket. “UNBELIEVABLE,” he mutters.

“aw, come on, boss! ya don’t gotta be such a _buzz_ kill.”

“HERE WE GO…”

“what? i’d think by now, ya wouldn’t find my jokes so _shocking_.”

“I’VE HEARD ALL OF THESE BEFORE.”

“i dunno, i thought these jokes were pretty _current_.” 

“STOP! I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS!”

With each groan and annoyed foot stomp, Sans’s grin only grows wider.

 “sorry, boss. i didn’t think all these electricity puns would get ya so _wired_.”

“LET’S GO HUMAN,” Papyrus huffs, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards what looks like the kitchen.

“what? dontcha want me to get to know the human a little better?” Sans calls out between soft chuckles.

“NO!”

“can’t we at least get a proper handshake? no tricks this time.” His voice still has a playful quality to it, but it sounds sincere.

Papyrus whips around and carefully eyes his brother, searching for any sign of deception.

“see? there’s nothing there.” Sans holds his hands up, a sly grin slowly creeping across his face.

After staring down his brother for a moment longer, Papyrus sighs, rolling his eye lights. “FINE. _ONE_ HANDSHAKE, BUT THEN WE ARE GOING TO TRAIN.” 

“one handshake is all i need.” He pulls his hand out of his jacket pocket, extending it towards you with a friendly grin.

It seems genuine enough, but you still hesitate for a moment.  
  
“aw come on, sweetheart! i don’t bite.” He winks at you, his gold tooth glittering ominously in the light.  
  
You shoot Papyrus a nervous look, but he nods, urging you forward. With that, you straighten yourself out and move to shake Sans’s outstretched hand with confidence. The bone is surprisingly warm to the touch.  
  
“now that ain’t so bad, is it?”

You shake your head, allowing yourself a small smile. You feel much more at ease now. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from your older brother!”

You feel Sans’s fingers stiffen in your hand. The room seems to go cold, the previous playful energy seemingly sucked out through a straw. It’s quiet. Why is it so quiet? Did you say something?

You look to Sans for an answer, but his sockets are empty and dark, devoid of their usual red eye lights.

_What’s wrong? Is something wrong? Why isn’t anyone saying anything?_

Before you can move to ask what’s happening, the sound of roaring laughter bursts out from behind you. It makes you jump. Sans takes his hand back and shoves it in his jacket pocket, grumbling to himself. You turn back to look at Papyrus, currently doubled over and clutching his sides.

“NYEH HEH HEH! HUMAN, THAT WAS HILARIOUS! WELL DONE!” 

You turn back to Sans, desperate for answers, but he avoids your gaze completely, staring down a spot on the floor. His eye lights have returned, but he still looks stiff. 

“NYEH HEH DID YOU HEAR THAT, SANS?” 

You switch between looking at the two of them, pure confusion written all over your face. “I don’t understand... what’s so funny?”

“ _i’m_ the older brother, kid,” Sans mumbles, eyes still locked on the floor. This makes Papyrus howl with laughter. The sound echoes around the big house.

Oh. _Oh no_. You feel your face start to burn. You didn’t mean to! You only thought– Papyrus was always talking about having to take care of him! How were you supposed to know his brother was actually– oh stars, this might be one of the _worst_ first impressions you’ve ever made. You start to stutter out apologies, but Papyrus cuts you off, wiping a tear from his socket. 

“COME NOW, HUMAN. WE HAVE TRAINING TO DO.”

Before you can repair any damage, Papyrus takes you by the arm and starts walking you towards the kitchen. Suddenly, he stops, whipping around in place.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” He glares at Sans who seems to be following a few steps behind. 

“i’m goin’ in the kitchen.”

Papyrus gives him an incredulous look, tapping his foot impatiently.

“what? can’t a guy go in his own kitchen?” He slowly rocks back on his heels, a casual grin spreading across his face.

_At least he seems less mad now._

“YOU NEVER SPEND TIME IN THE KITCHEN UNLESS I MAKE YOU.” 

Sans shrugs. “i wanted a snack.”

“DINNER IS IN AN HOUR AND A HALF.” 

“don’t worry, boss. i’ve always got room for your cooking.”

Papyrus stomps up to meet him, staring him down. Their height difference is even more obvious now, Sans having to tilt his head back to look his brother in the eye. After a tense silence, Papyrus folds his arms with a frustrated screech.

“YOU _ALWAYS_ DO THIS!!” 

“do what?” 

After a few failed attempts at a comeback, Papyrus balls his hands into fists, groaning with frustration. “FINE! YOU CAN STAY. BUT DO NOT INTERFERE!”

“don’t worry. i’ll be good.” 

You don’t fully believe that, but before you can think anything else, Papyrus calls you over to the kitchen counter. 

“PUZZLES, THOUGH IMPORTANT, ARE NOT THE ONLY SKILLS TO MASTER.” He pulls a cookbook off the shelf and slams it down in front of you. “TODAY, I WILL TRAIN YOU IN THE ART OF LASAGNA.”

This is new and altogether unexpected. There must be more to being a Royal Guard than you thought. 

He slides the book over to you and you inspect its cover. It appears to be leather bound, but there is no title on the front or any indication of an author. 

“FLIP TO PAGE 94 AND READ THE INGREDIENTS TO ME.”

“come on boss, i thought ya had that recipe memorized." 

You turn to see Sans sitting at the kitchen table. He’s using a second chair to prop up his legs, a bag of popcorn in his hands.

“OF COURSE I HAVE IT MEMORIZED! THIS IS FOR PEDAGOGICAL PURPOSES ONLY,” he huffs.

You look back to the page, scanning it for the starting point. The print is so clean and the spacing so even that it almost looks typed, but you can see that the penciled notes in the margins are in a similar script. Is this handwritten?

“READ IT, HUMAN.” 

“One medium onion, finely chopped…”

“NOT THAT PART. START HERE.” He points to the spot on the previous page.

“We’re… making homemade noodles?”

“NATURALLY. THE ONLY WAY TO ENSURE QUALITY IS TO DO EVERYTHING YOURSELF.” 

You hear Sans snort from behind you, but pay him no mind. Does that count as not engaging him?

“One and a half cups of pasta flour… one and a half cups of all-purpose flour… I didn’t realize there was a difference between pasta flour and regular flour.”

Papyrus makes an amused sound and crosses his arms. “I DON’T EXPECT YOU TO UNDERSTAND THE NUANCES OF THE SUBJECT, BUT SINCE YOU’VE ASKED I WILL EXPLAIN IT. 0 AND 00 FLOUR ARE THE GRADES OF FLOUR USED FOR PASTA MAKING. YOU SEE, IT ALL HAS TO DO WITH…” 

You do your best to listen, but it’s hard not to get distracted by Sans’s constant snickering. You try to tune it out, keying back into the lecture just in time to catch the uses for higher grade flours.

“THE LOW PROTEIN, LOW STARCH, AND LOW GLUTEN CONTENT MAKES FOR SOFTER FLOUR. THIS IS THEREFORE MORE IDEAL FOR PASTA, PIZZA DOUGH, AND CAKE BAKING.”

Huh. You learn something new every day. 

“hey boss, what kinda flour do ya think they use in chisps?”

 

“CHISPS ARE NOT MADE WITH FLOUR. THEY…” You can see the realization dawn on his face. “I FUCKING HATE YOU.” 

You can hear Sans laughing behind you. “that’s one gold for the swear jar!”

Papyrus starts to protest but closes his jaw with a scowl. “THIS HOUSE IS A NIGHTMARE,” he mumbles, walking over to deposit a coin in the aforementioned jar. 

Almost as if reading your mind, Sans turns to you, his grin wide as ever. “heh trust me, doll. for me, this _is_ bein’ good.”

“JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE USUALLY WORSE DOES NOT MAKE THIS ANY LESS TERRIBLE,” Papyrus snaps back. “NOW, READ ME THE REST OF THE INGREDIENTS.”

After you finish, Papyrus carefully weighs them out using a kitchen scale.

“IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT YOU ALWAYS WEIGH THE INGREDIENTS. IT IS THE ONLY WAY TO BE ABSOLUTELY SURE YOU’RE USING THE CORRECT AMOUNT.”

You’ve heard of professionals and serious bakers doing this before, but you’ve never done it yourself. Most of the things you make come out fine, so it’s never seemed like that big of a deal. However, it makes absolute sense to you that Papyrus does this every time. You would be hard-pressed to recall a time where he didn’t have something nailed down to the absolute last detail. Of course, it hasn’t been that long since you’ve known him, but based on the extent to which he talks about things, it seems impossible.

Despite owning a stand mixer, he insists on making the dough by hand, mixing it right on the wooden cutting board. He takes off his gloves and uses the first five minutes of the ten-minute kneading process to show you the proper technique. It’s the first time, you realize, that you’ve seen his actual hands. His fingers are long and slender, the palms of his hands containing more bones that you think a human would have. You do your best to keep your curiosity in check by focusing on the way he pushes the dough with the heel of his hand, but you can’t help but notice all of the cracks and nicks in the bone.

“NOW YOU TRY.” 

“What? Oh, uh yeah.” 

To his credit, it is much harder than it looks. He had the dough whipped up into a perfect ball shape with just a few flicks of his wrist. You, on the other hand, are much slower, either using too much flower that the dough gets dry or too little, making it stick to your fingers. If he’s frustrated with you, he doesn’t show it, watching the process over your shoulder with careful eyes. He gives you tips every once in a while but doesn’t intervene at all.

After a while, he takes out a knife to check the dough.

“NOT THE CONSISTENCY WE WANT. GIVE IT HERE.”

You obey and watch in awe as he goes back to his perfect technique. In no time, the dough is formed into a smooth ball.

“SEE HOW THE DOUGH IS ELASTIC AND THERE ARE HARDLY AND BUBBLES WHEN I CUT IT OPEN? THAT MEANS IT IS READY.” He presses the side of the ball with his finger, the dough starts to bounce back. “PERFECT. NOW WE LEAVE IT FOR 30 MINUTES. TIME FOR THE SAUCE.” 

He instructs you to read the recipe as he darts around the kitchen, collecting the ingredients.

“THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE!”

“Is something wrong?” 

“YES. THERE IS NO TOMATO PASTE.” 

You look around the counters in vain. There’s no way you would know where it is, but you still feel like you should help.

“SANS!”

You hear a startled noise that almost sounds like a snore. Did he fall asleep?

“WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY TOMATO PASTE?”

“nothin’. you sure you remembered to pick some up at the store?”

“WHAT KIND OF A QUESTION IS THAT? I ALWAYS CHECK THE CART TWICE BEFORE PAYING.” 

“maybe ya thought we had some at home,” he shrugs. 

Papyrus stares at him and narrows his eye sockets, but ultimately, he looks away, crossing his arms. “HUMAN, I APOLOGIZE FOR THIS… OVERSIGHT. I WILL CORRECT IT IMMEDIATELY. STAY PUT.” He darts out of the room, disappearing into the house.

You glance around the kitchen nervously, unsure what to do. Your eyes settle on Sans. He’s watching you from across the room, shoving handfuls of popcorn into his mouth. You want to apologize for earlier, but somehow the words refuse to come. Maybe that’s for the best. Something tells you he’d rather forget it. 

“so,” he says, clearing his throat “what is it you do exactly?” His tone is casual, but it feels more like an interrogation than small talk. 

“I clean houses here in Aboveground.” It’s one thing knowing that’s your job, but completely different saying it out loud like that. Sure, you told Jess, but you had years of friendship behind you. Sans is someone you just met, not to mention someone you thoroughly embarrassed yourself in front of. He has no reason not to judge you. He probably already has. 

“ya work for muffet? sounds like a fun gig.” He tosses a piece of popcorn into the air, catching it in his mouth. 

“Oh, do you know her? 

“you could say that.”

“What’s she like?” Even though her name is on your paychecks, you haven’t actually met the monster yourself. You’ve heard rumors of course, but as far as you can tell, they have no basis behind them.

He laughs, but you don’t understand the joke. “paps knows her better than i do. she’s uh… she’s somethin’ else.” It’s cryptic, but you get the feeling there isn’t much more he’s willing to say on the subject. “speakin’ of my brother, how’d you two meet?” 

You relay to him an abridged version of the story, leaving out the part where you thought he was upset about something. It doesn’t feel like your information to share.

“an’ he started talkin’ to ya? just like that?” He frowns, but doesn’t explain what he means by that. “he can really talk your ear off, huh? i like ta consider myself lucky that i don’t have any.”

That earns him a surprised giggle. Maybe that answers your question about how he doesn’t go deaf when the two of them talk on the phone. 

“dontcha get tired listening to him?”

Now it’s your turn to shrug. “I don’t mind. Besides, you can tell he’s really into it so it’s kind of fun to listen to.” 

“huh.”

The kitchen falls into an uncomfortable silence. You can hear Papyrus’s distant footsteps, but there isn’t much else to relieve the tension. You wish he’d come back soon. 

“ya know,” Sans muses, licking popcorn residue off of his fingertips “you should really be careful ‘round here. some monsters don’t take too kindly ta seein’ a human wanderin’ around.”

You feel your mouth dry up. “O-oh really?”

Suddenly without warning, he’s standing in front of you. “i don’t know who you are or what you want, but if you mess with my brother,” his eyes go dark, leaving two hollow sockets staring back at you.

 

“ **y o u r e  g o n n a  h a v e  a  b a d  t i m e**.”

You feel the breath get knocked out of your lungs. It’s as if sound itself no longer exists.

 

“capiche?”

 

You can only stand there, your limbs numb. 

“good,” he says, his grin back in its usual place. He sounds perfectly casual, but you don’t know what to believe anymore. “hey, boss! i think the human found your tomato paste!” 

_What?_

You slowly look down, the can of paste in your hand. Your eyes dart back to Sans, but only winks in response. 

“WHAT IS IT, SANS? I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR YOUR…” Papyrus’s eyes trail from your face to the can in your hand. “I SEE YOU’VE FOUND IT. WHERE WAS IT?” 

“It was hidden behind some stuff on the counter over there.” You’re surprised at how easily the lie comes to you. Your voice comes out even, despite your legs threatening to give out from under you.

Papyrus groans, pulling off the scarf from around his neck. “SEE SANS? THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LEAVE THE KITCHEN IN A MESS. YOU ALMOST DELAYED DINNER BY AN HOUR!”

“sorry, boss. won’t happen again.”

“NOW, WHERE WERE WE? RIGHT! THE SAUCE!”

No matter how much you try to throw yourself into the work, you can’t shake the feeling of Sans’s eyes on your back. 

_Is he really… threatened by me? Has he seen me? Has he seen his brother?_

Papyrus, _Captain_ of the Royal Guard, has years of tactical training, not to mention hands-on experience being in what is essentially the monster police force. He’s memorized countless bullet patterns and can produce countless more. He’s strong, fast, and his attention to detail is rivaled by none. What do you have? At most, a few years of ballet experience from when you were five. There is nothing for you to “mess with,” even if you wanted to. Sans even said it himself, _you’re_ the one who has to be careful around here.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” 

“Hm?”

“YOUR EYES… WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM?”

What? Oh. You were so engrossed in your thoughts that you hardly noticed how much they were burning from chopping the onions. You can barely keep them open anymore.

“It’s just something that happens to humans sometimes when they cut onions. It’s only a reaction, nothing serious.”

“I DID NOT REALIZE HUMANS WERE SO WEAK. LEAVE THIS AREA AT ONCE AND DO NOT COME BACK UNTIL I HAVE FINISHED CHOPPING.” 

You happily oblige, stepping out of the kitchen until your eyes stop watering. It must be nice being a monster and never having to deal with that. Then again, you’re incredibly grateful for the break.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts away from onions, Sans, and everything really. You’ve never been threatened before. Of course, you’ve gotten your fair share of backhanded remarks and passive aggressive emails, but no one had ever confronted you in person like that, let alone said it so explicitly. 

_“y o u r e  g o n n a  h a v e  a  b a d  t i m e.”_

The way he said it is still ringing in your ears, his face behind your eyelids when you close them. What does he mean by that? You don’t want to know. Not now, not ever. For once, you don’t care to analyze the situation and it apart for a logical explanation. Maybe later in the comfort of your own home. Now though, you need to focus on getting through the rest of the night. You’ll be fine as long as you stay with Papyrus.

You let out a shaky breath, trying your best to find strength in your game plan. 

_Work hard and be nice. It’s all you can do._

“HUMAN, THE VEGETABLES ARE FINISHED. YOU MAY RETURN NOW.” 

You put on your best smile, walking back into the kitchen. “Alright, Captain! What should I do next?”

Papyrus puts you on sauce duty, stirring in and browning the vegetables and meat while he rolls out the pasta dough and makes the cheese filling. It smells delicious. You’re glad you didn’t eat any dinner before coming here. 

He lays out all of the components in front of both of you around a single baking dish.

“MEAT SAUCE.” 

You hand him the bowl and he spreads about two cups of it on the bottom. 

“NOODLES.”

You trade him for the sauce and he completes another layer.

“CHEESE.” 

Again, you make a trade. He puts about a third of the ricotta mixture. 

The process repeats until you have a full dish. He picks it up off of the counter, sliding it into the oven with ease. 

“NOW WE CLEAN.” 

“Perfect!” You sing, clasping your hands together. “Something I can do!”

With the two of you working together, the cleanup finishes in record time.

You’re drying the final dish when he glances first at the clock, then the oven, then out of the kitchen. “I WILL BE RIGHT BACK.” He barely gives you any time to protest or beg him to stay, before he rushes out of the room, leaving you alone with Sans.

_Work hard and be nice._

“What kind of work do you do?” 

 At first, he seems surprised by your question, examining your face for a while from across the room. Then, he laughs. It’s low and warm, reverberating throughout the kitchen. If he wanted to, he could easily rival Papyrus in volume. “what _don’t_ I do? i work a lotta odd jobs, sweetheart.”

You didn’t dislike the nicknames before, but after your last conversation, they leave a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach. His answer could mean a lot of things, but you don’t dive into it. You feel like he’s being vague for a reason. 

“That sounds like a lot of work…”

He almost chokes, slamming his fist on the table. Before you can ask if he’s ok, he howls with laughter, making you jump. “hah! that’s a good one, doll. ya oughta tell that one to boss!”

“TELL ME WHAT?” Papyrus stands in the doorway to the kitchen, hands on his hips.

_Thank the stars he’s back._

Sans chuckles a little, wiping an imaginary tear from his socket. “yer human says havin’ a lot of jobs sounds like hard work.” His grin is practically ear to ear, gold tooth glittering in the light. “whatta ya think about that?”

You can hear Papyrus’s bones grinding together as he balls his hands into fists at his sides. With a huff, he stomps over to you, grabbing your arm. “WE’RE LEAVING NOW.”

“dontcha wanna stay and chat? i can get to know your new pal!”

“THERE WILL BE NO ‘GETTING TO KNOW’ HER. YOU’VE LOST THAT PRIVLEGE.” He turns to you, his face hard with defiance. “COME ON, WE’RE GOING UPSTAIRS. UNTIL DINNER IS READY” He starts to leave, but stops in the doorway as if struck by a sudden thought. “SANS?” he sings, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “DO TRY AND BE A GOOD _BABYBONES_ WHILE WE’RE GONE. NYEHEHEH!”

You see his eye sockets go completely dark before Papyrus pulls you out of the kitchen and towards his room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah! It's done! That was a little harder than I expected. I'm used to writing charismatic, funny, flirty Red. Not "touch my brother and I'll kill you" Red. I don't think him and Reader like each other very much... Well! There's plenty of time for that to change!
> 
> I'll do my best to get the next chapter up around this time next week. The opera I'm in is having tech week, so I don't know how much I'll be able to get done in addition to my school work and everything, but we'll see what happens! Obviously, it isn't the end of the world if I don't post it exactly a week from today, but I like to keep a consistent schedule, you know?
> 
> As always, I love hearing from all of you! Thank you so much for the comments and kudos! If you have any thoughts or tips or just comments in general, feel free to share!


	5. Dinner Is Served

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finish your evening that the skelebro's house. Papyrus and Sans have a talk.

“I don’t think your brother likes me very much…” you mumble, trotting behind Papyrus in an attempt to keep pace with his large steps.

“SANS’S OPINION DOESN’T MATTER.” You can’t be sure, but you think you hear a sting of disappointment in his voice. 

He quickly whisks you up the stairs and into a room, the door slamming shut behind you.

“WELCOME TO MY ROOM,” he says with a broad gesture of his arm. There’s barely enough of his regular enthusiasm to put you at ease, but the way he stomps to the center of the room tells you not to pry. You hope you didn’t make things worse with Sans; their relationship seems strained as is. You shake the thought in favor of inspecting the room. 

Your eyes immediately land on the bed pushed against the left wall. The footboard is the front of a car, two white stripes painted across the hood. The headboard has been replaced with a sleek black shelf, resembling the wing on the back of a race car. He seems to notice you staring at it and straightens himself up.

“I FOUND IT UNDERGROUND, COMPLETELY DESTROYED. UNDYNE AND I CARRIED IT HOME AND SANS MADE THE NECESSARY MODIFICATIONS, BUT IT WAS _MY_ IDEA TO REPURPOSE IT.”

You start to make a thoughtful noise, but it gets caught in your throat the second you process the statement. “Wait, you _carried_ it?”

“NATURALLY,” he says, completely undisturbed by the notion. “HOW ELSE WOULD YOU PROPOSE WE MOVE IT?” He gives his answer with such confidence that it seems silly to even question it. Of course, he carried it. Anything else would be ridiculous. Still, the image of Papyrus walking down the street with a beat-up 1968 Chevy Nova held above his head is almost too fantastic to process. A part of you knew that he must be strong being in the guard, but it’s only now that you begin to wonder how. He doesn’t even have muscles.

“Humans typically tow it with another car,” you explain, still slightly in shock. 

He scoffs. “THAT SOUNDS IDIOTIC. BESIDES, IT REQUIRES THE USE OF A SECOND WORKING VEHICLE AND WE DID NOT HAVE ACCESS TO SUCH THINGS UNDERGROUND.” 

Another image fills your mind, this time of monsters in all shapes and sizes, dragging their broken-down cars behind them like heavy book bags.

“Did you not have tow-trucks?”

“NO. WE DID NOT HAVE ANY CARS.” His voice is steady, but you notice his posture stiffen slightly. “THE UNDERGROUND WAS VERY SMALL.” That catches you by surprise. You want to ask what he means by that, but he’s closed himself off to you, making himself busy inspecting the books on his desk.

Everything about monsters had always seemed so spectacular, the rumors surrounding them ones of magic, strength, and power; You’d never thought of what it might’ve meant for them to be living underground. You can’t help but think about all of the monsters you’ve seen in the entire expanse of Aboveground and Halfway, imagining them in a crowded cave, their buildings and homes scraping the stone ceilings. What would they have done if the population kept growing? Where would they go?

“TH-THIS IS OF NO CONSEQUENCE NOW. WE LIVE ON THE SURFACE AND CAN DRIVE AS WE PLEASE.”  His voice goes back to its usual confident tone and you sweep the thoughts aside, but they still leave a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You try to make your voice sound casual and conversational. “Do you drive now?”

His answer is almost instantaneous. “YES.”

“How is it? Do you like it?”

He doesn’t say anything, but the smile that spreads across his face is enough to give you your answer.

You try to imagine the type of car he might drive. Maybe something big like a Pilot. Your grandparents had one of those, but the thing terrified you. It was so big, it could practically eat the smaller cars as it cruised down the street. It seems fitting. Then again, maybe he drives a sleeker car like a BMW. The power and precision seems like something that might appeal to him. What if he drives a completely practical and unassuming car? The image of him crouching into a small Toyota, his knees up to his chest as he sits in the seat, is enough to make you crack a smile. You tuck the thought away for later and continue looking around his room.

Your eyes land on a framed photo hanging on the wall. It looks like a younger Papyrus, standing confidently with a sharpened bone in his hand. Next to him is a fish monster of some kind, but you don’t recognize her. She’s holding a spear, positioned like she’s about to attack the camera, her red hair billowing behind her. They look like a pair of super heroes on the front of a comic.

“I SEE YOU ARE ADMIRING MY BATTLE FIGURES.”

In all honesty, you were too busy trying to get a better look at the photograph that you hardly noticed the table below it. It’s strewn with figurines, all carefully positioned into various formations. Around them are sheets covered in notes and diagrams, the occasional crossword puzzle peeking out from underneath the stacks.

“BY CONSTRUCTING VARIOUS SCENARIOS, I CAN OBSERVE DIFFERENT OUTCOMES TO FIND THE OPTIMAL STRATEGY.”

You move to speak, but seems to anticipate your question before you can ask it.

“THIS CURRENT SET UP, IS A DETAILED RENDITION OF CAPTAIN XALTHOR’S FAMOUS VICTORY. I DO NOT EXPECT YOU TO RECOGNIZE THE NAME AT THIS TIME, BUT HE IS LARGELY CREDITED FOR THE UNIFICATION OF MONSTERKIND DURING THE DARK AGES.”

You nod. You remember him mentioning this Captain before, but you can’t recall enough of the particular details to mention it.

“WHILE IT IS A HEAVILY STUDIED BATTLE, I AM EXAMINING HIS STRATEGY FOR EXPLOITABLE WEAKNESSES. OF COURSE, THE MODAL CLAN FAILED MISERABLY, BUT THROUGH CAREFUL ANALYSIS, I HAVE FOUND MANY VIABLE OPTIONS THAT THEY COULD’VE TAKEN. YOU SEE HUMAN, THEY ARE POSITIONED IN SUCH A WAY THAT THEY COULD COME ALONG THIS SIDE AND AMBUSH FROM HERE. OF COURSE THAT WOULD MEAN…”

He goes on for the next 30 minutes, describing the scene in detail. The battle terminology goes over your head, but you have to admit that the action figures are an innovative touch. They really help you visualize what would otherwise be a very abstract concept to you. Unlike his previous explanations, he only takes a little bit of time to describe the strategic advantages to a potential scenario before jumping to the next possibility. The more he talks, the less accessible the information is. It almost begins to sound like he’s thinking out loud rather than explaining things to you. You can’t say you mind, though; he’s oblivious to your confusion, but he sounds so invested that it isn’t worth stopping him.

After tiring yourself with mental gymnastics in an attempt to keep up, you allow your eyes to wander towards the bookshelf. There are a lot of monster history books. A lot. _The Great Monster Wars… Royal Guard: A History… Puzzles Through the Ages…Then and Now: A Comprehensive Look at Riddle Design…_ a dating manual? After everything you’ve experienced in the past week, nothing should shock you anymore.

_Why not own a dating manual?_

You can think of at least 20 reasons off the top of your head, but your counting is interrupted by Papyrus’s sudden silence.

“THE LASAGNA IS READY.” As if on cue, a timer goes off somewhere downstairs. He’s out the door before you can ask if he owns any books about souls.

 

* * *

 

 

“DINNER IS SERVED.” He sets down the lasagna in the middle of the table, steam still billowing off the top.

“you’ve really outdone yourself this time, boss,” Sans says with a grin. It makes you shift nervously in your seat. 

Papyrus shoots him a look and his smile falters slightly, but you don’t catch what it means. Then he turns to you, placing a generous serving on your plate.

“Thank you,” you mumble awkwardly. You wish you could’ve said more or offered up a more genuine smile, but the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach refuses to go away. You felt fine up in his room! What’s so different now?

Sans is sitting right across the table from you. That’s what’s different. His easy grin only seems to put you more on edge. There’s no way of knowing if it’s genuine or what he’s thinking. Does Papyrus know what he said to you? Should you even tell him? There’s no way to politely say to someone that their brother threatened you. How would he take it? What could he even do about it? Papyrus seems so frustrated with his brother as is, maybe it would be best not to add to that drama. 

“HUMAN, ARE YOU FEELING ALRIGHT? YOU HAVE NOT TRIED MY MASTERPIECE YET.”

From across the table, you see Sans’s eyes harden as he waits for your next move. You feel your chest tighten.

“Sorry, I was just lost in thought. I’ll have some now.” You give him an assuring smile and try a bite.

 

It’s amazing.

 

“Wow! That’s… that’s _really_ good, Papyrus. This is probably the best lasagna I’ve ever had!”

“DO YOU MEAN THAT?” His voice is relatively neutral, but you still catch the twinge of insecurity.

You told him that you really like it. Why would you lie about something like that? You try not to think too hard about why he might not believe you and settle for a warm smile and steady eye contact.

“I mean it.”

Immediately, his shoulders relax and his face breaks out into a smug grin. “WONDERFUL.” You think you see a slight dusting of red across his cheekbones, but your attention is pulled away by the sound of Sans clearing his throat.

“so dollface, how do ya like aboveground?” Again, he’s using his casual tone, but there’s still that certain edge to it. His gold tooth glitters at you from across the table, and you can't help but wonder how he go it.

_In a fight?_

You swallow, deciding to try your best to ignore his attempts at intimidating you.

“It’s interesting. Honestly, I’ve never seen another city like it.”

“ya mean ‘cause of all the monsters?” His tone is sharp and cutting, eye lights boring holes into you from across the table. His expression is hard and cold.

You swallow and try to pretend like you don’t notice. “I guess that’s part of it, I just meant that the city is so new. All of the human cities I’ve been to are actually pretty old, so they’re big and sometimes confusing because they weren’t built all at once. But Aboveground is different. There haven’t been many opportunities for people to design a fully populated city from the ground up so it’s cool to see.”

He stares at you for a while, considering your answer. Finally, he shrugs, shoving a forkful of lasagna in his mouth. “fair enough.” 

“How do you like Aboveground? Was it weird to move to a new city built just for you?” 

“it’s not the underground, so that’s already a lot better.” He offers nothing further and an awkward silence falls over the table. 

You can’t help but feel like an idiot. The Underground is not a very welcome subject. You try your best to shake it off, picking at your lasagna and taking tiny sips of water. You want to just dig in, but you feel so nervous, almost like your every move is being watched and judged. Sans’s threat is still clear in your mind, and you can’t help but feel like each word that comes out of your mouth only serves to condemn you further.

_Maybe he’s just wary of new people._

The thought doesn’t convince you, but you decide to pretend that it does. _It will take time, but it will get better._

Eventually you clear your throat, breaking the silence. 

“I’ve heard Aboveground has a beautiful library. Have either of you been?”

Thankfully, Papyrus speaks up, sparing you from another strained conversation with Sans. “ABOVEGROUND’S LIBRARY IS QUITE IMPRESSIVE. IT IS THE ONLY PLACE THAT CONTAINS ALL MONSTER LITERATURE EVER WRITTEN. THEY EVEN HAVE OUR SCHOOL ESSAYS THERE.”

You can only blink stupidly as you try to imagine the scale of something like that. You don’t think there’s a human equivalent of that sort of thing. What would it even look like to have all human literature in one place like that? You can’t keep the excitement out of your voice when you speak. 

“Do they have scientific papers there too?”

Papyrus scoffs. “DON’T BE RIDICULOUS. IF A MONSTER WROTE IT, IT IS THERE.”

You feel your heart flutter in your chest.

“why? ya like science or somethin’?”

Sans eyes you suspiciously, but you pay it no mind. “Something like that. So, it really has everything? It really doesn’t matter what, as long as a monster wrote it?”

Papyrus sighs, rolling his eyes. “YES. I’VE MADE THAT VERY CLEAR.”

“Wow,” you breathe. _They’ll have it, then._ You might actually be able to pull this off! 

“Are humans allowed in?” Your heartbeat is practically ringing in your ears now. You find yourself holding your breath in anticipation of his response.

“I DO NOT SEE WHY NOT.”

You release a big sigh, a smile spreading across your face. For the first time since this whole thing happened, you actually feel a spark of hope in your chest. You hadn’t given up, but didn’t allow yourself to get too excited about anything. But now, it actually seems like you might be close to getting the answers you were looking for. You grab a giant forkful of lasagna, suddenly unable to care about Sans or his threats. Something is actually going right for you, and you’re going to enjoy it.

“So, Papyrus, you never actually finished telling me about all of the Captains of the Guard.”

He seems surprised by your sudden enthusiasm, tripping over his words as he tries to respond. “H-HUH? O-OH, RIGHT! UM, WHERE WERE WE AGAIN?”

“I think we left off at self-shifting puzzles.”

He straightens himself up, regaining his composure. “O-OF COURSE. AS YOU MIGHT REMEMBER, SELF-SHIFTING PUZZLES WERE EXTREMELY IMPRACTICAL.”

He goes on, explaining how despite this advancement in puzzles, his time as Captain was extremely controversial. You allow yourself to get sucked into the story as Papyrus describes the Captain whose Guardsmen revolted against him, challenging him to a duel for his position. The conversation carries you the rest of the way through dinner.

“OF COURSE, I COULD TELL YOU MORE ABOUT HIS SUCCESSOR, BUT I WILL SAVE THAT FOR ANOTHER TIME.”

You nod and get up to clear the plates from the table. 

“HUMAN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU ARE A GUEST! PUT THOSE DOWN AT ONCE!”

You only smile, walking the plates over to the sink. “At least let me help clean up. Dinner was so delicious! I feel like I should at least do something to show my gratitude.” 

Papyrus begins to protest, but there’s nothing for him to say. If you feel honor-bound to help out, who is he to deny you?

“FINE. YOU WASH AND I WILL DRY AND PUT THEM AWAY. BUT THOSE DISHES HAD BETTER BE SPOTLESS! I HAVE VERY HIGH STANDARDS, YOU KNOW.”

“Of course, Captain.”

 

* * *

 

* _what’s got you so happy, sweetheart?_

He’s never seen someone get so excited over a library before. Sure, learning’s great and all that, but there’s no way that’s the only reason. You said you were a cleaning lady, right?

* _not an academic or someone who’d care about that kind of stuff._

* _so why do you care about some monster library?_

“HUMAN, I SHOULD BE ESCORTING YOU HOME NOW. IT IS NOT WISE TO BE OUT LATE.”

An uneasy look flashes across your face, but it’s only momentary. You give Boss a big smile. “Thank you.”

“OF COURSE.” Boss is trying to play it cool, but Sans can tell he’s flustered. Compliments have always gotten him like that. When Frisk went on that date with him, he was a bright red mess the whole time, even though he only went out of pity.

“SANS!” his brother booms, causing him to look up. “WE ARE LEAVING NOW.” 

“cool,” he shrugs. “it was nice ta meet ya, sweetheart. be careful out there.” He adds some extra weight into the last part. He can barely stop the grin from spreading across his face when he sees you shiver in response. You’re too easy.

* _good. don’t try anything._

“GOODBYE SANS. I WILL RETURN SOON.” 

“yup. see ya, boss.” He stays in his chair until he hears the door slam shut, Papyrus’s heavy steps slowly fading as he stomps down the sidewalk. Once he’s sure you’re gone, he shortcuts back to his bedroom. The springs creak under his weight when he throws himself on his bed.

It was one thing when Boss was running around with Undyne, throwing boulders and burning down houses. She could be… intense, but he didn’t exactly mind that. Boss finally had someone to train with, someone who could keep up with him, someone who could push him to be better.

Shit Sans _couldn’t_ do, even if he wanted to.

But then things changed. They came to the surface. Things were going—not alright, but they were going. They’ve got the sun and stars. There isn’t a mountain threatening to collapse on ‘em at all times. Monsters have their own city. Sure, there are still fights, but not like before. You can walk down the street without getting dusted an’ that’s a big improvement. They didn’t _need_ anything else.

 

They didn’t need _you_.

 

* _where did Boss even get you, anyway?_  

Sure, you told him the story, but something isn’t adding up. Boss just… talked to you. Ok, so maybe it’s not a stretch to imagine his bro lecturing at some random human mopping the floors, but Boss wanting to talk to you again? And you actually _agreeing?_ That part doesn’t make sense.

You and his brother have the weirdest relationship. He wasn’t eavesdropping exactly, but he heard everything he needed to. You were here for hours and you hardly said _anything_. Sure, you asked the occasional question or two, but other than that: nothing. He wanted to keep an eye socket on you, but after 30 straight minutes of listening to Boss talk about the right way to crush tomatoes, he couldn’t help but fall asleep. No wonder his bro seems to like you so much; you’re like a livin’ brick wall he can spend hours talking at. Still, not everyone can just listen to that for ages. There has to be some kind of angle. 

The look on your face when you two had your little chat was enough to tell him that you don’t have a spine. And a patience soul? You hardly seem like a threat. Of course, that could just mean that you’re willing ta bide your time for years before striking at the perfect moment. Either way, he’s not letting you off the hook. Sure, his bro is tough. He’s one hell of a guardsman and you’d be stupid to challenge him. But you’re a human. He doubts you know the real advantage you have, but he can’t risk it.

* _if you strike with the intention to kill…_

“I’M BACK.”

* _that was fast. he must’ve used shortcuts to take you to the wall._

He follows the sound of his brother’s footsteps up the stairs until they stop outside of his door. There are three sharp knocks.

“come in.” 

When the door opens, he sees Papyrus standing there, his arms crossed and his face red.

“WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?”

“i dunno what you’re talkin’ about, boss.” He does his best to keep cool, but he feels a bead of sweat run down the back of his skull.

“LIAR! YOU SAID SOMETHING TO THE HUMAN!” He can hear Boss’s bones rattling from here, barely contained magic bubbling to the surface.

“look, i-”

He stomps his foot, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?! I DON’T NEED YOU TO BABY ME, SANS! I’M AN ADULT!”

“i know, bro. but-“

“BUT WHAT? WHY CAN’T YOU LET ME MAKE MY OWN CHOICES? THIS IS _EXACTLY_ LIKE THAT TIME WITH MUFFET! YOU NEVER LET ME HAVE ANYTHING THAT’S MINE! YOU JUST _HAVE_ TO KEEP INSERTING YOURSELF WHERE YOU DON’T BELONG!” A bone attack starts to materialize, but as soon as he notices, it quickly dissipates. Papyrus lets out a long sigh, the rattling of his bones gradually slowing. “I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF, SANS. YOU NEED TO STOP DOING IT FOR ME.”

He lets his skull fall into his hands, if only to hide the smile slowly creeping across his face. Paps sounds just like he did when he was in stripes. He always hated having to stay at home while Sans went out to get things for them, insisting he could go along and help. He even started trying to cook once he was tall enough to reach the stove, always wanting to do everything on his own. And right now, all Sans can think about is an identical conversation they had when his bro wanted to go to a birthday party. So much has changed since then, but some things stay the same.

He sighs, rubbing his nasal bone. Even back then, he was always shit at saying ‘no’. Even when he knows it’s dangerous or a big mistake waiting to happen, Paps always manages to crack him somehow.

“you’re right, bro.”

Papyrus’s jaw drops momentarily before clicking shut. “O-OF COURSE I’M RIGHT. SO, YOU’LL AGREE TO STAY OUT OF IT?”

He only shrugs in response. His brother tries to protest, but he cuts him off.

“just be careful.” He doesn’t say more than that, but Papyrus seems to get the message.

He’s never told him about the times he’s seen him reduced to a pile of dust in the snow at the hands of a kid half his height. Part of him wonders if he remembers, but a bigger part of him never wants to ask. Either way, he knows what humans are capable of. He knows what can happen if you trust the wrong one. On some level, Boss knows it too, even if he won’t say it.

“I’M ALWAYS CAREFUL.”

* _ ~~in this timeline.~~_

“i know, boss.”

He leaves, the door slamming behind him.

* _at this rate, we’ll have to replace all the doors in the house within a year._

He sighs to himself, falling backwards on the mattress. Maybe in a different universe, he could let Paps do whatever he wanted without worrying about coming home to find a pile of his dust. Who knows, maybe in that world they weren’t trapped under that fucking mountain in the first place. No wall. No Halfway. No bullshit with Tori. Just surface life without a care in the world.

But thinking like that is stupid, and being stupid is dangerous.

It doesn’t matter what the world _could’ve_ been. When it comes down to it, he can’t do those things. He’s seen his brother’s dust. They were trapped underground. Things were shit. And even if he wants to believe his bro will be fine, that’s not a risk he can afford to take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! It's finally done! Last week was so crazy so I didn't have much time to write. I'm sorry for the delay. But I'm back now and everything's good! It's a busy semester, but I think I'd go crazy if I didn't take breaks to work on this.
> 
> This fic has fanart! Click [here](https://addicted-to-the-fic.tumblr.com/post/182562314444/awwww-look-at-him-so-flustered-this-fanart-is) to check it out! A huge thanks to Addicted2TheFic for making this! I died when I saw it. They have a lot of cool art on their blog so 10/10 would recommend checking it out.
> 
> Thank you all for being so supportive :) It really means the world to me! As always, I love to hear from you so don't be shy to tell me what you think in the comments! Have a good day!


	6. Etot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You make a mistake.

You hurry down the busy street of Aboveground, dodging people as you make your way to your assigned apartment. It's farther than you expected. You won't be late as your start time isn't so rigid, but you'd like to get there all the same. No matter when you arrive, you'll have to finish everything before the owners come home for lunch. It's doable, but you'd rather not have to rush.

You whisper light ‘excuse-me's as you dart through the crowd, weaving through the narrow spaces between monsters. Though many of them are larger than you—making for a rather intimidating experience—right now, it's to your benefit. You easily move past them in an elaborate dance, trying your best to navigate the rush hour.

 _Left. Right. Right. Down. Right. Left._  

"Excuse me, Ma'am."

 _Under. Left. More left. Right. Apologize._  

"Sorry, Sir!"

You're almost at the cross-walk when your foot catches on something, throwing you off balance. You stumble backward to see a Whimsun in front of you, hovering a foot or so above the ground.

"Hey! Watch it!"

You stutter out an apology, flustered by the surprisingly low timbre of their voice. They roll their eyes, muttering something about idiot humans under their breath. Before you can react, someone slams into you from behind, pushing you out of the flow of traffic. You feel yourself fall forward. You barely manage to catch yourself through a series of hurried steps. With a deep sigh, you watch the crowd continue to move on, seemingly uninterrupted by your disturbance.

You take a moment to center yourself, brushing the dirt off of your work uniform. The area in which you're standing now is much less crowded. It's a plaza of some kind. In front of you, rows of steps lead up to a large building with towering columns and grand archways. The top of each arch is inscribed with various symbols, but you don't recognize most of them. The one symbol you do recognize however is the Delta Rune, etched into the florid designs that top the Greek-style columns. 

"Lovely, isn't it?"

You turn to your side to see a woman in a neatly tailored purple suit, a shiny black briefcase in her hand. She stares up at the building with a large smile. 

"Yeah…" 

"I think so too, but of course, I'm a bit biased. I helped design it, you know!" She laughs at the stunned look on your face. "I won't be offended if you don't like it."

"N-no! I do!" you anxiously sputter. Though flustered, her warm smile seems to put you at ease. You allow yourself to relax a little. "What is it for?"

"Do you see those symbols up there?"

You nod. They're the ones you noticed earlier. 

"They're called symbols, funnily enough. Monsters are rather blunt when naming things, aren't they?" She grins brightly, showing off a small gap between her two front teeth. "It reads ‘where the knowledge is born and the past never dies.' I can spare you the riddle if you'd like."

"The library?" 

"Have you heard that one before?" She laughs, not waiting for your answer. "It's a shame we can't go in. I've heard it's wonderful inside. Of course, I know it's wonderful, but I'd love to see it in person." She gives the library one last longing look. "Maybe one day…"

You smile at her politely and she nods, going back on her way.

For a moment, all you can do is stand and stare, the pain in your chest twisting into a dull ache. The spark of hope you felt at dinner the other night, the feeling that pulled you out of bed all week, has been stamped out, leaving nothing behind for you to cling to. You're so close, but you'll never get what you need. You turn away, numbly slipping back into the heavy flow of foot traffic. 

With tight breaths and measured steps, you arrive at your destination. You unlock your assigned apartment and walk over to the cleaning supplies left out on the counter, inspecting your list of tasks. It's not too bad. You might actually finish in an hour or two. After giving the apartment a once over, you conclude that the hardest task will be the marks on the kitchen floor. You decide to start with that. But no matter how much you try to invest yourself in your work, you can't stop thinking about it.

 _The Royal Scientist will release more information about souls. We just have to wait_.

You want the thought to be comforting—stars, you need the thought to be comforting—but no matter what you tell yourself, it fails to relieve you of your growing disappointment. 

_I just have to wait, huh? Finally. Something I'm good at._

You laugh bitterly to yourself, shaking your head with disbelief. Is that what it comes down to? A waiting game? Your useless soul trait might come in handy after all.

How many times have you heard ‘patience is a virtue'? It's an easy thing to say; a phrase you've heard all too many times when discussing the uncomfortable topic of your soul. Do any of them believe it? Part of you feels like they say it just to say it, to somehow make you feel better about your color.

_Why me?_

You don't feel particularly patient. Sure, you've never thrown a fit because of a traffic jam or rolled your eyes at a cashier that took longer than usual to check you out, but is that really it? Is that all you are?

You bite your lip, attacking the marks with your sponge. None of this is how things were supposed to turn out. You're supposed to be working at EbCo, crowded into a room with your friends and colleagues as you all pull together to meet a deadline. You're supposed to be living in Ebott, leading an exciting life that moves at the pace of the city itself.

You scrub the scuff marks on the kitchen tile with vigor. The sponge almost rips within your firm grasp. With a cry of frustration, you let it go. It hits the tile, sending droplets of water flying in all directions.

None of that matters. You're not in Ebott; you're here. You're on your hands and knees cleaning someone else's kitchen floor. You work in a city where you're not allowed to go to the public library. Everything is controlled, from the way you dress to the doors you can walk through. Every day you're surrounded by monsters and magic; things that weren't supposed to be real. None of this is real! You shouldn't be here! It's–

You choke back a sob. 

_It's not fair. None of it is fair._

You take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, and release it in one big sigh. Despite your uneven breathing and quivering lip, you try to focus on something else.

_Let's try posture._

You close your eyes and think about letting your bones support you instead of your muscles.

_My shoulders connect to my collar bone. They can hang in place, and don't need to be engaged to have good posture._

As the thought drifts through your mind, your shoulders release their held tension. You roll your head around in one slow circle, trying to stretch out any sore spots. Despite your best efforts, your jaw refuses to unclench. It's not perfect, but it's better. 

You do your best to remain calm, assessing the situation with steady thoughts.

What are you feeling right now?

 _Bad_. 

It's simple. It sounds stupid. But it's true. There's no other way to say it. 

_This feels bad. I'm disappointed. I'm frustrated. I want things to work out and I don't understand why they don't. I want to understand. I want things to be different. I want to feel better._

You release another big breath. All of those things are ok; they don't feel that way, but they are. They're your feelings. There's no changing that. Large tears spill down your face and drip onto the floor, but you don't try to stop them this time. If you feel like crying, you should cry. 

You crawl across the floor to retrieve your sponge. Once again, you go back to scrubbing.

 

_This sucks._

 

You tell yourself that you know, and it's ok. Sometimes things suck. There's nothing more to be said. You'll do your best going forward. That's all you can do.

The cleaning is methodical. You push yourself to go above and beyond, making sure each detail is near perfect before moving on to the next task. When you're working like this, the rest of your problems seem to melt away. Your world for the next two hours consists only of mops, rags, and soap. There is no Aboveground. No library. No souls. Just the task in front of you and the one after that.

It helps. 

When you leave the apartment a few hours later, you feel accomplished. Drained, but accomplished. You barely notice your heavy steps against the pavement as you walk to your next job. You barely notice anything. Your head spins with exhaustion and apathy. You might as well be a ghost. 

You float through your next job, completely unnoticed by the people moving around you. Again, you throw yourself into your work, embracing the monotony. It doesn't usually demand all of your attention, but right now you need it to. You don't want to think about anything else.

You polish off hard rings of soap scum. You wash windows and haul buckets of dirty water until your arms ache. When you finish, you're tired. It's a good tired, the kind that will pull you into a deep sleep the second your head hits the pillow.

Your walk home is taxing, but welcome. Right now, the best thing you can do for yourself is to curl up in bed and rest. You still feel the pressure weighing heavy on your chest, but it feels manageable.

The closer you get to the library, the faster your heart starts to beat. You shove your hands in your coat pockets, pretending to ignore their shaking. In the end, it's just a place. Walls, ceilings, floors, and books. 

_That's all. It shouldn't make me feel so terrible._

You've never been a good liar, even to yourself.

Your feet carry you into the plaza and once again, you find yourself staring up at the huge building. Disappointment seeps into the pit of your stomach, twisting it into a painful knot. After a minute or two of standing in silence, you begin to wonder why you're here at all. 

Maybe you could just stand here until you feel better. You can't live in fear of a place. It's not the library's fault that you can't go in. 

You walk up the first set of steps, inspecting the statues that seem to stand guard over the entrance. At first, they seem like abstract columns that loop and curve towards the sky, but as you get closer, you realize that they're actually necks? They shoot out of tiny armored bodies and have little dog faces and ears at the top. You can't explain why, but they're simultaneously awe-inspiring and terrifying. You can't tear your eyes away from them. 

Suddenly, you feel something brush against your leg. You let out a squeak, jumping back in fear. Next to your foot is the little white dog from the other day. It stares up at you, its black eyes glittering in the sunlight. 

"You scared me!" you scold, your voice reduced to a harsh whisper.

The dog licks its nose with its tongue. It's not really an apology, but you can pretend. 

"It's ok. Just give me a heads up next time, ok?"

The dog pauses for a moment, then sneezes.

"Bless you."

The two of you stand there for a little longer and you go back to inspecting the statutes. After a while, you sigh.

"I'm actually a little glad to see you. I could really use some company right now."

There isn't a hint of understanding in the dog's eyes. It's ok though; it being there is enough. Suddenly, the dog whimpers and prances in a tight circle. 

"What is it?" 

The dog lies on the ground, its little black nose buried between its paws. The dog whimpers again.

"What's wrong?"

It rolls over on its side, exposing its stomach. Its big eyes look up at you, it's tail wagging expectantly. 

You can't say no. Not when it's looking at you like that. You crouch down and scratch its belly. Your move your hand in slow circular motions, enjoying the feeling of soft fur underneath your fingertips. It's been a long time since you've had the pleasure of petting an animal. You forgot how cathartic it can be. The dog's tongue lolls to the side as it basks in the glory of your rubs.

Without warning, the dog jumps up and rips your purse from your shoulder before taking off. 

"Hey! Give that back!"

It looks over its shoulder to be sure you're following before breaking into a sprint. You take off after it, your arms waving wildly. The monsters around you offer you no assistance. In fact, it seems like they barely even notice you.

You chase behind the dog, but it's too fast for you. When you fall too far behind, it stops, waiting until you're just close enough before running away again.

"Please stop! This isn't a fun game for me!" 

The dog yips excitedly, dashing up the stairs and through a door. You follow without thinking.

As soon as you enter the building, you lose sight of it. You look around in panic before spotting your purse on the ground a few feet in front of you. You nearly trip as you run over to scoop it up. Once the purse is in your hands, you stop to see where you are.

You're standing in a grand lobby of some kind. Below you, the perfectly polished tile is etched with intricate patterns. Above you, columns reach towards a massive domed ceiling. Large arched windows let in streams of light, illuminating the room in a golden glow. There are hallways branching off in various directions, but there are no signs so you aren't sure where they go. It's funny, the design reminds you of–

No. No No No you have to leave immediately. You can't be here. Humans are allowed in the library. You need to– 

 

"Human!" 

 

Your head snaps up in panic at the sound of the commanding voice. 

A bunny monster storms up to you, hands firmly placed on her hips. Her face is covered in barely restrained anger. "Don't just stand there! The service entrance is that way!" She points to a plain looking door in the corner with a small symbol the front.

"N-no I don't–"

She scoffs, cutting you off. "I know that you humans don't _read_ , but you should at least be able to recognize the symbol for your own race. Now go! You aren't being paid to stand there!" You barely have room to correct her as she pushes you towards a plain looking door. "And put on your real uniform when you get downstairs! That," she says, gesturing to your current outfit "is just embarrassing." 

The door slams shut behind you, leaving you completely alone. You push yourself against a nearby wall for support, your heart pumping wildly. You tried to tell her! You did! She wouldn't let you speak! You need to leave. You need to find a way out of here. Now. Your eyes dart around the room, searching for any sign of escape.

The service entrance is nothing like the beautiful lobby you were in moments ago. The walls are grey concrete. The only light source is from a harsh overhead lamp. In front of you is an industrial-looking stairway that leads only down. There's no door leading outside.

You try to think rationally in an attempt to ease your growing panic. 

If there's a service entrance, there must be a service exit. You just need to find another human. You can tell them what happened and they'll get you out of here.

With your plan firmly in hand, you set yourself straight and walk down the steps in feigned confidence.

_I'll find a way out and no one will even know I was here._

You don't feel completely assured of that, but now is not the time to second guess yourself. You have a job to do.

The bottom of the stairwell leads to another poorly lit hallway. You pass a bathroom and hope starts to bloom in your chest. Humans must work around here. You quicken the pace of your already hurried steps.

There has to be someone around here that can help…

Miraculously, a door down the hallway swings open. A human walks out, carrying a stack of papers in his hands.

"Excuse me!" you call, jogging down the hallway to meet him. "Do you work here?"

"Y-yes? D-don't you?"

"No. It's hard to explain, but I entered the library on accident and they assumed I worked here. I need to leave. I'm not supposed to be here."

He holds the stack of papers closer to his chest, his eyes darting around nervously. "Uh, I d-don't know i-if I can–" 

"Please!" 

He flinches at the sudden urgency in your voice and you take a step back, inwardly berating yourself.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout. I'm just a little panicked right now. I need to get out of here. Is there a service exit of some kind where I can leave unnoticed?"

He seems to accept your apology as he visibly relaxes, slumping against the wall. After a moment of hesitation, he points down the hallway. "Go straight down and take a left. Follow the signs to the break room. Once you get there, there should be a service elevator on your right. Take it and the exit will be right there." 

You breathe a sigh of relief, a huge weight lifting off of your chest. "Thank you so much."

"S-sure thing." He nods. Suddenly, he leans closer to you, his voice lowering to a whisper. "J-just don't tell anyone you were here ok? Y-you'll get in big trouble a-and so will I if they find out I helped you." He doesn't wait for your assurance before he scurries off in the opposite direction, leaving you alone in the corridor.

You take a second to collect yourself before continuing onward. You mumble his directions under your breath as you follow the path. The hallway twists and turns, but you keep going straight ahead, following the signs until you reach the breakroom. Just like he said, the elevator is there waiting for you. You step inside and look at the buttons.

_What floor?_

He didn't say. You stare at your options. Is it G or 1? You had to walk upstairs to get to the main entrance of the library so you must already be on the ground floor, right? You press 1 and hope for the best. 

The elevator moves at a painfully slow pace. 

 _This is a new building, right? The machinery shouldn't be that old._  

You're sure there probably isn't anything wrong with it but you still breathe a sigh of relief when it stops on the floor with a soft ding. As soon as you step out, the doors close behind you. The sound of whirring machinery lets you know that the elevator has left, probably called to another floor. You stare at the single, windowless door in front of you.

_Freedom._

You're about to leave when something else catches your eye. The other door almost blends in with the surrounding wall, save for a slight difference in color. Etched in words line the top. They're so faint that you almost missed them. Almost.

"Monster History - Dark Ages to Home, Biographies - Dark Ages to Home, Nonfiction – Dark Ages to Home, The Library of Royal Scientists."

You suck in a sharp breath, your heart fluttering in your chest. It's right there. You could be in and out and no one would know. 

You take a step towards the door, only to pause.

You shouldn’t. You’re not allowed. 

 _Then what will you do? This may be your only chance to get information._  

Wait?

The word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Why should you? When was the last time someone accomplished something by sitting back and doing as they were told? You think about all of the progress that’s been made because people refused to do just that. How can you allow the course of your life to be dictated by those who don’t care about you? How many times has patience meant inaction?

You pretend to debate the topic, but your mind has already been made. With newfound confidence, you reach out and place your hand firmly on the door. 

Today, you are responsible for what happens to you. Your situation won’t change unless you change it. 

With a deep breath, you push the door open and step forward.

Immediately, you’re met with a burst of warm air and the smell of old books. You allow yourself to bask in the feeling, enjoying the simple pleasures that come with being in a library. It’s quiet, but peacefully so. You can hear yourself think. The plush carpet beneath your feet welcomes you, it’s warm colors filling you with a sense of calm. The ceiling here is considerably shorter than that of the main entrance, but the shelves that reach all the way up to the top give it the feeling of being large. It’s cozy. You think you could spend hours here with nothing but a good book to keep you company.

The sound of distant voices immediately pulls you back to reality. This isn’t your beloved library in Ebott or even your new one in Halfway. You’ve made yourself a criminal just by being here. You feel your heart speed up in your chest, but you don’t dwell on the feeling.

_In and out. No one has to know you were here._

You set your shoulders straight and start down the aisle with quiet but deliberate steps. You find yourself holding your breath in anticipation, each creak of a floorboard sending you into a momentary state of panic. You freeze each time before turning down a new aisle, the fear of suddenly coming face to face with a monster enough to completely paralyze you. But with each undetected step, you grow more confident. Slowly, you start to speed up. The Library of Royal Scientists is somewhere here, you just need to find it. You keep an eye on the author names as you pass in an attempt to give yourself a sense of direction. There should be a sign somewhere.

You make a sharp turn down another row of shelves and you find your pace quickening. The longer you’re in here, the sicker you feel. You try to ignore it, but the knowledge that you’re breaking the law always seems to find its way back into your thoughts. You’re just about to clear the row when you hear a cough from behind you.

 

"Etot."

 

You freeze, the hoarse voice stopping you in your tracks. Your breath quickens, the beating of your heart threatening to crack through your ribcage. Thoughts race through your mind and you feel your hands go cold. You never should have come here. You aren't a bad person. You do what you're supposed to and keep your head down. You always have. You don't break rules. 

But you did.

You hear the heavy sound of labored footsteps followed by the sound of something wooden scraping across the floor.

"Well!" the voice barks, sending an electrifying current down your spine. "Dontcha have any manners? Look at a Monster when he's speaking to you."

You slowly pivot, your stomach filling with dread. You come face to face with a turtle monster, his face leathery and spotted with age. A jagged scar runs through his milky eye, the skin raised and bumpy as if it had never properly healed. His expression is hard as he glares at you with his good eye, the other seeming to stare through you. You feel yourself shiver.

"Etot," he says again, his voice sharp and clipped. Before you can ask for clarification, he jabs his cane at the shelf by your shoulder. "A great monster historian, dedicated to documenting our old life on the surface. He spent his life speaking to monsters, writing down their memories for when we were eventually freed. For centuries, this is all monsters knew of life up here."

Your eyes dart to the shelf. The entire thing is filled with thick tomes, the single name ‘Etot' printed on their spines. 

"This shelf makes up his life's work. Just this shelf." He slams his cane on the floor, making you flinch. "Now tell me, girlie," he croaks, leaning forward. His good eye blazes; the intense red of the iris makes your mouth to dry up. "How many times have you breezed past the entirety of someone's accomplishments?"

You feel your body go numb, your legs threatening to collapse from under you.

"These books have seen more than you or I. Why don't we show them a little respect, hm?" 

You stand frozen, unable to force yourself to respond, let alone move. 

"So," he rasps, taking another step towards you,

 

" **no running in the library**."

 

Before you're able to form a clear thought, he cackles. It booms throughout the empty room, filling the space with the raucous noise. He turns around and hobbles away, still wheezing with laughter. You stay rooted to the spot until you hear the distant sound of a door slamming shut. The sound continues to echo across the rows of shelves, dissipating until the stacks are once again filled with silence.

Slowly, you bring your hands up to your face, only to notice they're shaking. You release an uneven breath, grasping onto a nearby shelf for support. You can still feel the blank stare of his milky eye, gazing beyond where you stood. His convulsive laugh still rings in your ears.

No running in the library. That's all. You'll be ok, just take your time.

Though it calms your breath, the thought does nothing to ease the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach. You sigh, attempting to release the tension in your shoulders. It helps a little.

Once you feel steady enough to continue, you open your eyes, slowly making your way down the aisle. As you walk, you can't help but feel paranoid, as if the books themselves are judging you when you pass by. You weave through the shelves, but this time, with a different sense of urgency. Your steps are measured with cautious deliberation, afraid to disturb the quiet atmosphere. 

_"How many times have you breezed past the entirety of someone's accomplishments?"_

It must be countless. With each row you pass, you feel hyper-aware of the titles. How many hours did someone spend only to have their work sit on a shelf to collect dust? How many years? How many lifetimes?

You continue on in search of the former scientist's paper, but the thoughts refuse to leave you. Here you are, in the center of all monster knowledge. This building contains their history, unabridged and unaltered. Every book and pamphlet, every monster who's ever put their pen to paper is here; their work waiting to be looked at. Waiting to be read and understood. You walked by them like they're nothing.

_"These books have seen more than you or I."_

Titles and authors jump at you, their letters jumbling and whirling around your head. Though completely alone, the noise is deafening. You have half a mind to turn around and run away.

Then, a light. A signal of freedom in the form of a plaque on the wall. The library of Royal Scientists is straight ahead. You can make out the door in the distance. Your heart starts to pound again but for a different reason this time. You're so close now. Just a few more rows of shelves to go. 

You feel a pang of guilt in your stomach, but no matter how much you try to ignore it, the feeling grows. What will you do once you get there? You won't be able to check out the book. You can't take it with you. You feel the weight of your impulsive decision. 

You only make it a few more steps. 

"Human. Stop."

The sound of the commanding voice makes your blood run cold. They've found you. You obey, turning to find two Guardsmen and the turtle monster from earlier

"That's her alright," he nods, pointing a shaky cane in your direction.

The Guards leave him with a nod, marching over to you. 

"Identification and occupation, human."

You fumble around your pockets, shakily handing your ID card over.

"Occupation?" the Guard barks again, turning the card over in his hands.

"C-cleaning staff for Muffet." You swallow, but it does nothing to ease the lump in your throat. The Guard returns your ID.

"State your purpose here." The other Guard commands.

"I'm just here to do some reading, Sir." You feel your palms start to sweat. 

"Are you aware that humans are not allowed in Aboveground's Library?"

"No." You're lying. Please don't let them see that you're lying.

The Guard eyes you suspiciously before snapping to attention once more. "Protocol states that you must be transported to the station. Once there, you will be asked routine questions. If you answer honestly, you will have nothing to worry about."

You give one last nervous glance towards the library of Royal Scientists before following the Guards out the door.

* * *

"Human!" 

Everyone seated on the bench at the Guard Station looks up. The dog monster nervously glances between all of you before consulting his clipboard again. 

"Justice!"

You fall back in your seat. Two men stand up to walk towards the dog monster, only to stop and exchange nervous looks.

"Uh… which one?" one of them says apprehensively.

The dog monster lets out a short yelp and anxiously flips through his pages. He nearly drops the clipboard in his haste but manages to catch it before its contents spill on the floor.

"Y-you!" he barks, pointing at the shorter of the two. "Come! And you! Sit! Stay!" 

The man does as he's told, watching the other disappear through a door down the hall. There are only four of you now. 

You nervously swing your legs, your toes just brushing the floor. Like everything in Aboveground, this bench is not meant for you, or any other humans for that matter. You don't know how long you've been waiting here, or even what will happen next. All you know is that your little adventure was based on a stupidly impulsive decision. It's one you won't make again. 

None of the other humans here are talking, all finding a different spot on the wall to stare at. You can't help but wonder if they're all half as terrified as you are. If they are, they're hiding it well. You feel like you might throw up.

"Patience!"

Your eyes quickly dart around to the others, but none of them make any motion to stand. You must be the only one. Carefully, you slide yourself off the bench. Your feet hit the tile floor with a soft pat. 

"Right this way Patience Human!" 

You follow the Guard down the hall, casting nervous glanced towards each door as you pass. With each step, you feel the pit in your stomach grow deeper. Images of dark rooms with a single bright light shining directly at you fills your mind. They never told you where they were taking you or what would happen. The Guards you've interacted with have seemed calm, but extremely tight-lipped.

Are you going to jail?

You clench your jaw, holding back tears at the thought. You don't belong there. You're a good person. Good people make mistakes.

 _Good people go to jail, too_.

You pass a door labeled interrogation. Your body goes cold. Is that what they meant by questioning? You pull your shaking hands close to your chest, still following the Guard down the hall.

_Just tell the truth. Maybe they'll go easy on you._

Do they know if you're lying? 

_It doesn't matter. You can't lie._

You entered the library on accident. It was that dog! 

_But you followed him in. You knew you weren't allowed to._

You didn't do anything wrong. You didn’t even read anything.

 _But they brought you here. It must be serious_.

Before you can stop yourself, potential scenarios run through your head. Rough voices. Yelling. Sharp movements. Difficult questions.

 _It doesn't matter what you say. They won't believe you, they can see your soul._  

You feel the breath get knocked out of your lungs, the prospect of being checked too much to bear. It doesn't matter how many times you've felt it. It doesn't matter who does it. You'd do anything to avoid the deathly cold and quiet that comes from being pulled into an encounter.

"Here!"

You barely have a chance to react before you're ushered into a room, the door closing tightly behind you. 

It's not how you imagined it. Instead of the dark, windowless room, you were expecting, it's a neatly kept office. The walls are covered with various maps and old photographs. There are a few plaques with names you recognize as former Captains, but other than that, nothing particularly catches your attention. At the center of the room is a large desk, the papers on its surface kept in pristine piles. Behind it is a black leather chair, turned away from you. You awkwardly take a seat, your heartbeat ringing in your ears. The monster in the chair clears their throat, slowly spinning to face you.

"IF YOU ANSWER HONESTLY, THIS WILL BE RELATIVELY PAINLESS."

Your heart stops, the room falling excruciatingly silent. From across the desk, Papyrus stares at you, his face going pale.

"HUMAN? WHY ARE YOU…" He doesn't finish the thought before frantically flipping through the file in his hands. You watch him scan the page, a gloved finger trailing along as he reads. He stops, his jaw clenching tightly. When he looks up at you again, his expression is hard. He carefully places the file on his desk, tightly folding his hands together in his lap. 

"THIS IS…" He stops, closing his jaw with a click and looking away from you. You hear the faint sound of bones scraping together. When he looks back at you, he's wearing a stern expression you've never seen from him before. 

"I HAVE MADE AN UNFORTUNATE MISTAKE." Though his face is stoic, you can make out the nervous wringing of his hands from across the desk. 

"THE OTHER EVENING, I GAVE YOU FALSE INFORMATION IN TELLING YOU THAT THE LIBRARY WAS AVAILABLE TO YOU. THIS WAS AN OVERSIGHT ON MY PART AND I CAN ASSURE YOU, THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN. I CANNOT…" He trails off, a strained breath whistling through his clenched teeth. Again, he picks up the file from his desk. This time, he reads it more slowly, carefully reading each word. His hand briefly clenches into a fist before he slowly releases it. He spins his chair away from you, staring off through his office window.

 

You desperately want to say something. You want to apologize for putting him in this position. You want to tell him that it isn't his fault; that he should treat you like any other human. You want to be brave and noble, insisting that you can handle the punishment.

But you aren't. 

You're scared. You're ashamed. You can't speak. 

"HUMAN." 

You immediately perk up at the sound of his voice, your eyes locked on him. 

"I DO NOT WANT TO PUNISH YOU FOR MY MISTAKE. BUT UNFORTUNATELY, THIS HAS BECOME AN ISSUE OF SECURITY. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" 

You finally find your voice. "It was my fault. I… I take full responsibility for my actions." This has nothing to do with him; you can't let him take the blame.

This time, his head snaps up to look at you. "THAT'S–!" He quickly collects himself, falling back into his hard expression. "NO. I WAS THE ONE WHO TOLD YOU IT WAS OK. I… I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER." 

The room falls silent, only the soft sounds of the city below can be heard. You shift uncomfortably in your seat.

Suddenly, he leans forward to look you directly in the eyes. As you stare back, you can't help but feel like you're back in the locker room. There's that same intensity in his eye lights, only this time, there isn't a hint of hesitation. There's a deadly stillness in them. A shiver runs down your spine.

 

"HUMAN." The seriousness of his voice takes your breath away. "WERE YOU PLANNING ON HARMING MONSTERS WITH THE INFORMATION IN THE LIBRARY?"

 

You feel your shoulders relax at the question.

 

"No."

 

Your answer to him is the surest you've been of anything all day. You know that once you pass through the wall, you become a second-class citizen. The rules and regulations that seem to follow you at every turn can be taxing. But despite everything, no matter how difficult your time in Aboveground has been, you've never once considered it. 

He continues to stare at you intently, his eye lights searching your face with heavy concentration. You maintain your position, doing your best to ease the rapid beating of your heart. The judgment is entirely in his hands. There is nothing you can say or do now. There is nothing to do but wait.

When he finally speaks, his voice is steady and firm.

"I BELIEVE YOU." 

Immediately, you're flooded with relief. You collapse backward in the chair and he seems to do the same, his shoulders slumping in a way that seems very unlike him. You're suddenly aware of how lanky he actually is. 

"THANK THE FUCKING STARS."

As soon as he says the words, his head snaps up to look at you, his eye lights momentarily large and pleading. He starts to speak, but it's as if he realizes something and shakes it off.

There was nothing for him to worry about in the first place. What were you going to do? Tell Sans? This is hardly the right time for a swear jar.

Once again, the room falls into silence. This time, however, Papyrus seems lost in thought, his face set in concentration. He stands up from his chair and begins pacing the perimeter of his office with practiced steps. He doesn't have to look down, effortlessly stepping over obstacles on the floor as if it's a routine matter. You can't help but notice that he seems to follow the same walking pattern, always stepping on the exact same floor tiles with each lap. He must do this often. After a while, he nods, making an approving sound. 

"HUMAN." 

You feel your breath hitch, if only for a brief second.

"YOU HAVE BROKEN THE LAW."

A tight pain shoots through your chest. You clasp your folded hands tighter, the knuckles turning white.

"HOWEVER, I CANNOT CONDEMN YOU TO PUNISHMENT AS I WAS, IN PART, RESPONSIBLE." The words catch between grit teeth. He takes a deep breath, continuing. "I DO NOT KNOW WHY YOU WENT TO THE LIBRARY, AND DO NOT TELL ME. I AM… W-WE SHOULD NOT COMPLICATE THINGS FURTHER." 

He's already decided to talk responsibility for his mistake, and you get the feeling that nothing you say will convince him otherwise. You want to relieve the burden. You want to tell him, but the words die in your throat. He's right. It's already a conflict of interest; telling him would only serve to make matters worse. You don't want to get between him and the job he's so clearly proud of.

"HOWEVER, THERE IS A CLEAR SOLUTION HERE. WE WILL REQUEST AN AUDIENCE WITH QUEEN TORIEL. I WILL EXPLAIN MY MISTAKE AND YOU WILL EXPLAIN YOUR INTENTIONS. SHE WILL DECIDE THE BEST COURSE OF ACTION FROM THERE." 

You feel yourself blanch. "The Queen? A-as in the monster Queen?" 

"DO YOU KNOW ANOTHER QUEEN TORIEL?"

No. You don't know any Queens at all.

"NOW, YOU SHOULD GO HOME AND REST. WALK STRAIGHT TO THE WALL. DO NOT STOP ANYWHERE." 

"What should I do until the… the meeting? What about my job?" You can't stop the panic from rising in your voice. You need this job right now. You can't lose it. Not again.

Papyrus folds his hands behind his back. "YOU WILL WORK AS USUAL." He anticipates your next question without pause. "I WILL SPEAK TO MUFFET." He stands you up, leading you towards the door.

"Papyrus," you whisper, looking up at him. "I'm so sorry."

He stares down at you, soft uncertainty falling over his features. He only holds your gaze for a brief moment before straightening himself out, snapping to attention once more. 

"QUEEN TORIEL IS A GOOD RULER. I TRUST THAT HER JUDGMENT WILL BE FAIR AND JUST."

It isn't much, but you can tell it's meant to be comforting. You smile up at him, but he only nods once before looking away.

"NOW, GO HOME."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took me so long! This chapter is the longest one I've written so I'm sure that contributed. It's a big one, but in the end, I'm proud of how it came out! I hope to be posting more regularly now. My coursework got the best of me, but I'm currently on break so I've had a decent amount of time to catch up with everything.
> 
> A HUUUUGGGEEE thank you to my beta reader, Mal. He's very supportive and helpful and I'd be pretty lost without his feedback.
> 
> Thanks again to you all for your support <3 I love reading your comments and hearing from you so don't be shy to tell me what you think! I hope you're all having good weeks :)
> 
> *Quick note: I am updating the earlier chapters. Nothing is different plot-wise, I just think there are a few sentences that could be better and there are a few formatting things I want to change.


	7. Hones-tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and the Queen have a lovely chat

“HAVE YOU PRACTICED WHAT YOU WILL SAY?”

You nod. You must’ve gone over the words a million times, but still, they don’t sit right in your mouth. They feel foreign. Blocky. You know it’s the right thing to say—you’ve gone through various stages of editing and your statement seems to accurately represent your position—but it feels robotic as if the words are merely sounds you’ve memorized.

“WHAT HAPPENS WHEN SHE OFFERS YOU A SEAT?”

The answer comes effortlessly. “I will thank her and then wait for her to sit down before doing it myself.”

He nods.

He’s been drilling you on etiquette for days. At this point, it would be a miracle if you had managed to forget anything.

“WHAT IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING TO REMEMBER WHILE YOU ARE IN THERE?”

“Be honest.”

“W-WELL YES BUT… I WILL REPHRASE THE QUESTION. WHAT IS THE MOST IMPORTANT RULE WHEN INTERACTING WITH THE QUEEN?”

“Do not speak unless spoken to.”

“EXCELLENT.”

You stare at your lap, unable to look anywhere else. There are calluses and blisters on your hands that weren’t there a month ago. Your once perfectly manicured fingernails are now short and bare—the beautiful colors you used to wear wouldn’t survive the harsh cleaning products. You swallow, hiding your hands under your now crossed legs. You don’t want the reminder of how much has changed. The chair you are sitting on is deceptively uncomfortable. You’re convinced that there’s a marble slab hidden under the fabric. You’ve changed positions quite a few times now, but nothing you do seems to help. Next to you, Papyrus shifts in his seat.

“DO YOU HAVE YOUR ID CARD?”

“I needed it to enter the city.”

“R-RIGHT.”

An awkward silence falls between you and you busy yourself with examining the details of your shoes. They used to be your favorite pair but you haven’t had the occasion to wear them for a while. They’re a little scuffed, but still presentable. The Queen won’t be looking at your feet, right? You ignore the nervous twinge in your stomach.

_People don’t notice those sorts of things._

You casually glance over at Papyrus. Though he always seems to be well-dressed, he’s really pulled out all the stops for today. His sleek, black suit is perfectly tailored and practically immaculate, accented with his signature red. Slowly, your eyes pan down to his shoes. He’s polished them.

_Fuck._

You should’ve gotten new shoes for the occasion. You had to buy a purple suit and you could’ve gotten them then. Why didn’t you notice how bad they looked when you got ready this morning? You should’ve taken more time. The hairstyle you attempted might’ve been fine for the professional dress code at EbCo, but to meet royalty? You fidget with the hem of your blazer. It’s too plain. You’re too plain. Why do you have to wear purple? You stuck out like a sore thumb in Halfway. Everyone knew where you were going. You wish you could dress in business black. Purple feels too flashy, too obvious. You can’t disappear in a purple suit. You want to disappear. The Queen will take one look at you and laugh. You look unprofessional. You aren’t ready. She’ll send you to jail. You’ll never be able to work again. Your life is over. You’ll-

“HUMAN.”

Your head snaps to look at him. He isn’t looking back, slowly working his jaw back and forth as he studies the wall across the room. You wait for him to finish his thought, but he remains silent. Eventually, you sigh and go back to staring at the floor. You can see the overhead lights in the reflection of the marble.

When he speaks again, it almost startles you.

“UNDERGROUND…” Papyrus pauses, clearing his throat. The silence is heavy as he fishes for the words. “UNDERGROUND, ASSOCIATING WITH THOSE WHO WERE WEAK SHOWED WEAKNESS.”

You nod, but your eyes remain glued to the floor.

“I DO NOT ALLOW MYSELF TO BE SEEN WITH WEAK PEOPLE.” His words are short and clipped, cutting through the quiet room like a sharp knife.

You turn to look up at him, ready to search his face for signs of disappointment, but his eyes haven’t left the wall. There’s a strange stiffness in the way he holds himself, his face hard and expressionless. Suddenly, looks at you and the two of you lock eyes. Within his dark sockets, two striking red pricks of light stare at you. They’re wide and bright, as if there’s a fire burning deep within them. He doesn’t seem angry with you. In fact, he seems to be staring at you expectantly. You can only blink at him, unsure of what he’s searching for. Suddenly, he turns away from you and crosses his arms.

You look away and bite your lip, replaying the bizarre exchange. Slowly, it dawns on you. You allow yourself a small smile at the absurdity. It seems so obvious now.

“Thank you, Captain,” you whisper.

You think you hear him mutter ’took you long enough’ before coughing and answering with a short “OF COURSE.”

“The Queen will see you now,” a rough voice announces.

You look to see a large monster in a full suit of black armor, his face covered by a large helmet. The two of you start to stand, but the Guard raises his hand.

“Only the Captain.”

You look to Papyrus, eyes wide with panic. He gives you a curt nod as if to tell you everything will be ok. You sit down, but his gesture does nothing to calm your growing nerves. He manages to shoot you one more reassuring glance before following the Guard across the room. He folds his hands behind his back and stands a little straighter before stepping through a doorway. The door abruptly closes behind him and the Guard returns to his nearby post.

For a while, all you can do is stare after where he left, the stillness of the room gnawing a pit in your stomach. It feels so empty without him sitting next to you, without the sounds of his bones lightly scraping together as he fidgets with his hands. He believes in you. He didn’t say it quite in that way, but he meant it. You release a shaky breath, repeating the words that have been running through your mind all morning with a newfound drive.

_I apologize. My actions were mine and mine alone and I take full responsibility for them. I accept whatever judgment you deem appropriate._

The small sitting room you’re waiting in is filled with the all of the luxuries you’d expect from a royal palace—plush couches, velvet curtains, towering bookshelves, and ornate paintings to match. And yet it feels like an elaborate set. The books on the shelves lack titles. The plants are plastic imitations. The fire roaring in the hearth gives off no heat. It’s a husk of a room with the comforts of life stripped away. You want to relax amid the silk cushions and deep purple window dressings, but the chair is like a rock and your pulse is quick through your veins and despite the illusion of calm, you know that at any moment, someone will walk out and call you into a private room where a monster you’ve never met will determine your fate.

_I apologize. My actions were mine and mine alone and I take full responsibility for them. I accept whatever judgment you deem appropriate._

You repeat the words again as if doing so will save you. As if somehow, you’ll find solace in your preparation. You won’t. You know you won’t and yet you say them over and over, memorizing the way they feel on your lips. The way they taste when you whisper them under your breath.

_I apologize._

You stare down the door at the end of the room, your ears tuned to the sounds around you. There’s the popping and hissing of the fireplace, the creaking of the royal guard shifting in his armor, the distant sound of heels clicking on the shiny marble floors, even a muffled conversation by two strangers walking past the sitting room. But no matter how carefully you listen, you can’t hear Papyrus’s voice. Your lungs begin to burn and you realize you’ve been holding your breath. Maybe it’s better that you can’t hear him. Part of you—the part that’s been dreading today from the moment you left his office—doesn’t want to know. But part of you hopes that you’ll manage to catch a word or two that will somehow provide you with the relief you so desperately desire. Deep down, you know that hearing a fleeting whisper of his conversation will do nothing to make this any easier. But still, you stare at the door. With bated breath and your heartbeat threatening to crack your ribcage, you watch and wait.

_My actions were mine and mine alone and I take full responsibility for them._

You’re startled by a loud sound of metal hitting stone. You look over to see the guard standing beside you. He strikes the floor once more with his spear.

“The Queen will see you now.”

_Already?_

You feel your stomach sink, your entire body going cold. It wasn’t enough time. Frantically, you search around for Papyrus. He hasn’t come out yet, has he?

The guard taps his foot expectantly and you slowly stand, following him towards the door. You imagine finding Papyrus in there with the Queen, waiting for you like a disappointed parent, his expression full of disgust as he gazes down at you from behind the Queen’s watchful glare. You beg the stars for a swift judgment, anything to keep this nightmare from dragging on any longer than it needs to.

The guard marches forward with heavy footsteps, keeping you close by his side.

You count your steps, running through the rules of etiquette one last time. Only speak when spoken to. Bow. Your majesty. When she offers you a seat you… oh stars, what do you do? You stumble forward slightly, frantically trying to recall the rule. You arrive at the door all too quickly, your panic growing by the second.

_Who sits first?_

The guard knocks once. A muffled “come in” sounds from the other side. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, preparing yourself for what you cannot control.

You open your eyes, stepping through the threshold. The door swings shut behind you. Immediately, you realize that Papyrus isn’t here. You can’t decide if that’s good or bad.

“Hello, my child. Please, come in.”

You take a tentative step forward, your eyes scanning the room for the source of the voice. Instead of the empty throne room you expected, you’re in a nicely decorated office. It’s more intimate than you had imagined. A regal desk stands opposite you at the far end of the room, bathed in the color from a small stained glass window. Two small armchairs face the desk, but despite their welcoming appearance, you feel hesitant to trust their comfort.

A large goat monster steps into view, closing a door to an adjoining room. One look is all you need to confirm her as the Queen. She holds herself to her full height, shoulders set back in perfect posture. Still, she manages to look relaxed, as if she was born to do just that. You suppose that in a way, she was. She glides across the room, her every movement exuding practiced grace. The fabric of her long purple robe flutters elegantly behind her as she walks, but she never once gets caught in her long train. From the way she carries herself, you can’t help but imagine her as more of an Empress than a Queen. She stops behind the desk, her deep red eyes meeting yours.

“Take a seat.” She speaks slowly, but clearly, her rounded tone almost soothing in nature.

You nod, your shaky hand reaching for the chair, but you quickly stop yourself. Stars, why can’t you remember what Papyrus said about this?

The room is filled with a soft, melodious laugh. “Do not trouble yourself, child. I find such rules of etiquette to be quite arbitrary.”

You smile weakly and take your seat, your mind spinning in a desperate attempt to figure out which of rules you should keep.

“Tea?”

She’s already placing the steaming cup in front of you so you decide to follow along and nod politely. Steam rises off of the top of the cup, twisting into strange shapes before dissipating into the air. You don’t ask for it, but she drops in a rather large cube of sugar. You watch it slowly sink to the bottom, little granules separating off into the amber water as it falls.

She clears her throat, directing your attention upward. She’s holding the teacup to her lips as if signaling you to do the same. You need to grasp the cup with both hands to hold it, and even then, it feels too large for you. You take a large sip as she does, ignoring how the hot liquid burns your tongue and the roof of your mouth. It goes down easily, spreading a comfortable warmth through your chest. You feel yourself relax if only a little.

She stares at you from across the desk, carefully scanning your face. For a brief moment, you see a flash of excitement in her eyes, her entire face softening all at once. Slowly, she lifts a single furry hand towards you. She looks as if she’s about to speak, her lip quivering ever so slightly. But just as it seems like she’s about to touch you, she clears her throat instead, placing her teacup delicately on its saucer.

“I apologize. You look…” She stares at you for a moment longer before shaking her head. “It has been a long time since I have hosted a human. I had forgotten how… _different_ they can be.”

Something tells you that ‘different’ isn’t the word she meant to say, but you only smile weakly and nod.

You quickly avert your gaze and scan the décor of her office. Your eyes land on a paper target pinned to the wall. There’s a large hole where the center of the bullseye would be. She seems to notice you staring at it, as she smiles warmly.

“That was from a recruit in the Royal Guard,” she says, her ruby eyes twinkling. “His first bullseye, I believe.”

There’s a note at the top of the paper written in sloppy handwriting. The signature is illegible. The more you look around the room, the more notes you see. The bulletin board is covered in cards and crudely drawn pictures in crayon. Although they vary in formality, they all address the Queen in some way.

“I love them,” she says, sighing. “Each and every one of them. My subjects,” she continues, “they’re like my children. I want to nurture them. To see them succeed. To _protect_ them.”

You try to ignore the way her voice changes when she says it, reaching out and grabbing the cup of tea in front of you. As you drink, you feel the tea’s warmth spread through your body. Despite just having taken a sip, you feel thirstier than before.

“You understand, do you not?”

You feel the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand up, a cold shiver running down your spine. You nod numbly, unable to form the words to tell her so.

Suddenly, her voice changes, adopting a cheery tone. “Biscuit?” She holds a cookie tin in front of you, gesturing for you to take one.

You start to politely decline but something in her expression stops you. You can’t explain it, but it feels unwise to reject her offer. She pushes the tin closer to you and you do as she says, taking a large bite to show your appreciation. It’s incredibly dry. You take another large sip of tea to wash it down.

She gives you a satisfied smile, placing the tin back in her desk drawer. “You are probably too young to have experienced that kind of love first hand. Of course, you have seen it, I’m sure. But until you’ve felt it… truly _felt_ a mother’s love, you know nothing of it.” She stirs her teacup. The spoon looks incredibly small in her large hand. “All of these rules and laws, that I’m sure feel incredibly oppressive to you, they are all for them. For my _children_.”

As she says the word, there’s a strange fire in her eyes. For a moment, her face grows hard and cold. You feel yourself shrink back in your chair, gripping the armrest with shaking fingers. But as soon as the emotion comes, it disappears and she regains her composure. She continues to speak, her voice back to its soft, rounded tone. It’s not quite the same though. There’s a certain forcefulness to it that you hadn’t noticed before.

“For centuries, we have been trapped, forced to live in too small caves and crevices. Now we have finally reached the surface world, and I will do _everything_ in my power to ensure that we stay here. It’s what any good mother-” She pauses to correct herself. “What any good _Queen_ would do.” Her eyes flick up to meet yours. There’s a strange coolness about them, devoid of any fear or uncertainty. “Have I made my position clear?”

Somehow, you find your voice. “Yes, your Majesty.”

Suddenly, she laughs. It starts as a soft giggle, but it slowly begins to fill the room until it’s a barely restrained howl. You offer a tentative smile and shift uncomfortably in your seat, searching for the joke that wasn’t there.

“Please,” she says with a smile, waving her hand at you dismissively, “that is far too formal. Ms. Toriel is fine. I want you to think of me as… as someone you can talk to! A friend, if you will.”

“Y-yes your- uh Ms. Toriel,” you stutter in mild shock. Her current demeanor is such a sharp contrast from how she had been speaking to you only a moment ago. You try to mentally replay the conversation but she quickly stands up.

“Oh my! What a dreadful host I have been! If you want more tea, you need only ask, my child!”

You feel your face scrunch up in confusion. Slowly, you look down at the massive cup in front of you only to find it empty. You don’t remember drinking it all. When did you–?

“Here you are!” she says sweetly, refilling your cup to the top. Again, she gives you a single sugar. You find yourself lifting the large cup to your lips, taking a deep drink. It seems to satisfy a craving that you don’t remember having. Each time you swallow, you need more. You drain nearly half of the cup before placing it back on its saucer.

“Now, I feel it’s time that we get down to business, don’t you? Why don’t you explain to me what you were doing in the library that day?” She smiles at you, but there’s an edge to it. Her question seems to cut you to your very soul.

“I was standing in front of the library.”

_Wait._

“I knew that I wasn’t allowed in; a woman had told me earlier that day. I don’t know why I was even there…”

_Should you really be saying this? Slow down and-_

“It all happened so fast…”

The Queen stops you. “How about we start from the beginning? What time did you wake up?”

_Think before you-_

“6:30.”

You can’t stop yourself from answering. A small voice in the back of your head tells you to think and respond carefully, but nothing you do seems to work. You describe to her the details of your day. You talk about the architect and your feelings of hopelessness when you learned you wouldn’t be allowed in. You tell her about the dog, the rabbit monster, and how you tried to leave. You explain how you walked down the twisted hallways, looking for someone, anyone, who could tell you how to get out. You get to the part about the elevator and the two doors and your voice stops working.

_How can you tell her?_

You were almost there. Up until that moment, your actions were justifiable. You had done everything by the book. And then-

“Child?” She stares at you steadily from across the table. She leans forward, the wildfire in her eyes burning brightly. “Speak.”

Again, you feel the compulsion to answer.

“I saw the door and…” You feel your throat tighten, the corners of your eyes prick with tears. You blurt it out, unable to control yourself any longer. “I needed to know! It wasn’t even about the lawsuit anymore, I-I just needed to know! For _me!_ I needed to know if _this_ ,” you place your palm on your chest, clutching the soft material of your shirt, “is all I am. I-it can’t be all I am… can it?”

You’re not sure how it happens, but she appears beside you. Her large arms wrap around you and you find yourself sobbing into the sleeve of her purple robe. She places a large hand on your back, gently shushing you and holding you against her chest. Her fur tickles the top of your head, but you don’t pull away. Wrapped in her arms, time seems to move slowly, but she doesn’t move to release you. Then, she slowly pulls back, wiping the tear tracks from your cheeks.

“I’m sorry…” you whimper.

“My sweet child,” she smiles at you warmly, her eyes twinkling with an affectionate spark. “Thank you for telling me. I understand that it must have been difficult for you.”

You nod, awkwardly sniffling.

“Please explain to me the details of this ‘lawsuit’ you had mentioned.”

You release a shaky breath and start from the beginning. The Queen listens carefully, shaking her head sympathetically every once in a while. She gasps in the correct places, encouraging you with her sad smile. The more you talk, the easier it becomes. By the end, you barely notice the strange energy coursing through your veins.

“…and that’s why I was counting on the library. There’s so much we don’t know. How is a trait determined? What does it mean? We can’t assert that I was wrongfully terminated if we don’t know how someone’s soul trait affects their life.”

“I see…” she hums thoughtfully.

You sigh, falling back into your chair. You feel exhausted. There are some people who know bits and pieces, but you’ve never explained the entire ordeal so honestly before. It feels good to get it off your chest, even if it ends up incriminating you. You release a deep breath, preparing yourself for your final statement, the one you truly know by heart.

“I apologize. My actions were mine and mine alone and I take full responsibility for them. I accept whatever judgment you deem appropriate.”

She stares at you intently from across the desk. You hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You can’t breathe. She reaches for the phone, pressing a single button. Almost as soon as she does, the door to her office opens.

“Papyrus, please take a seat.”

You immediately turn around to look at him, your heart leaping into your throat at the sound of his name. He shoots you a quick look as if to ask what’s happening, but there’s only so much you can convey through your eyes. He brushes it aside and pulls out the chair beside you, seating himself. His gaze is entirely focused on the Queen. You shift nervously, doing the same. While quickly glancing between the two of them, you suddenly become acutely aware of how small you are in comparison. You shrink back in your seat.

“My child,” Queen Toriel begins, sitting forward in her chair, “I feel great sympathy for you. Truly, I do. Your situation is one of great difficulty.” Papyrus’s eye lights shoot towards you for an explanation, but the Queen continues without pause. “However…”

Your chest tightens at the word.

“It is not an excuse for your actions. My duty is to my people. The law is to protect them. You have broken that law.”

You feel your entire body deflate, collapsing in on itself. It’s what you had been expecting, but the words sting all the same. Your hands curl into tight fists at your side in an attempt to bite back the disappointment and shame. It was stupid. The whole thing was stupid. Even now, you can see the moment so clearly. You can see the two doors, and you imagine yourself walking through the other. You would’ve been fine. You would’ve saved yourself the trouble.

_If only I had been-_

You can’t bring yourself to think the word.

You bite your lip as a rigid breath escapes your lungs. No matter how many times you tell you’ve told yourself that you’d accept the consequences, you feel like you can’t. It’s selfish. You knew what might happen when you made that choice, and yet you chose. Now you want to beg for forgiveness and mercy. You want to tell her that you’ve changed your mind and that it wasn’t your fault. But out of the corner of your eye, you see him. You see him and you stop.

Papyrus came here for you. He stood up for you. He could’ve sent you to jail, or banished you from the city, or whatever it is they do to humans who break the law.  But he didn’t. He came here to admit to a mistake no one would even know he had made. It’s stupidly noble, but noble all the same. He believed in you. He still does.

Your voice shakes when you say the words, but you say them anyway.

“I understand.”

The Queen makes an amused sound, raising her eyebrows at you. But as if to dismiss the thought, she quickly clears her throat. “That being said, your situation is unique. You have the support of one of my most trusted officers.”

Despite the obvious tension in his body language, Papyrus seems to perk up at the words, sitting taller.

“Captain Papyrus has vouched for your innocence, insisting that he take responsibility. While you have stated that he has played no part in your actions (and I am inclined to agree based on your telling of the events) the Captain’s argument holds some merit. This was your first offense and I believe that he is right in his assessment that you meant no harm.”

What? You can only stare at her, unsure if you heard the words at all. Did she really-?

“So!” she loudly declares, straightening herself up. “I have decided to leave you with a warning.” She leans forward, her eyes narrowing. “But do know that if such a thing were to happen again, I might not be as forgiving.”

“Y-yes Ma’am.”

She nods once, releasing her suspicious glare, before turning to Papyrus. “As for you, you will lead the expedition Underground. I trust that it will serve as sufficient punishment for your misstep.”

You begin to protest but Papyrus stops you with a single wave of his gloved hand.

“THANK YOU, YOUR MAJESTY.” He dips his head forward in a deep bow.

Your eyes dart helplessly to the Queen, but she only gives you a sly smile followed by a wink. Before you can parse what it means, she’s standing behind you, ushering the two of you out of her office. You manage to stop in the doorway.

“Your- Ms.- uh I-”

She places a large hand on your back, leaning down in a whisper. “It’s hardly a punishable offense, but he practically begged me to. I would be hearing about it for the rest of my life if I did not agree.”

Your lips form a silent ‘oh’ and she giggles softly. Now that she says it, it’s impossible not to picture the scene. You can almost hear his defiant ‘BUT IT WAS WRONG’ as he insists on the proper disciplinary action.

“It is hardly a difficult or dangerous mission. He will be fine.”

It still doesn’t feel right to you, but you suppose that the Queen was somewhat clever about it. You smile at her, whispering a ‘thank you’ and she returns the gesture warmly. Again, you turn to leave, but again, something stops you—a spark of hope that was nearly forgotten blooming in your chest.

“Ms. Toriel?”

She pauses at the sound of her name and for a brief moment, you see that same affectionate sparkle in her eye.

“Yes, my child?”

You swallow your nerves, ignoring the way your legs threaten to give out from under you. “Is there anything that can be done to help my case?”

For a moment, her face goes completely cold. Then, as if it didn’t happen, she giggles softly, flashing you a bright and cheery smile.

“I’m sorry, but **no**. It was lovely meeting you!”

The door immediately shuts in your face.

You blink dumbly, still trying to process her happily sung rejection. The strange stillness in her momentary expression still lingers in your mind. You try to understand, but your brain can’t form coherent thoughts for you to think. All you can do is stand and stare at the woodgrain in front of you.

_What-?_

A little monster wearing a cardboard crown rushes past you, clutching a paper between their claws.  You step back, allowing them room. The door to the Queen’s office opens followed by a squeal of excitement. Her soft, melodic voice echoes throughout the space, ringing with cheery vibrancy.

“Oh, hello little one! What is your name? Oh my! Is that for me?”

The little monster excitedly bounces in, the heavy door closing behind them.

“HUMAN!”

You look to see Papyrus standing at the edge of the room, his hand on his hip and his foot tapping impatiently.

“WHY ARE YOU STANDING THERE? COME ON.”

You quietly jog over to him.

“LET’S GO.”

The two of you walk in silence until you’re out of the palace altogether. For the first time in days, you can actually breathe without feeling a weight pressing down on your chest. It’s finally over. You’re confused, and perhaps a little dazed, but relieved. You can help but sneak a glance over at Papyrus. It’s hard to be sure with his confident stride and professional demeanor, but he seems a little more relaxed as well. You want to tell him that he didn’t have to do that for you, but you can already anticipate his answer. Instead, you settle for small talk while you search for a way to return his favor.

“How long will you be gone?”

He looks down at you for a moment before directing his attention forward. “ONE WEEK.”

Even though it feels like a long time, you feel yourself relax a little more. It isn’t so bad. And Queen Toriel said it wouldn’t be incredibly dangerous, right? You remind yourself that he’s a very capable Captain. He’s strong and clever and… so unlike anyone you have ever met. You look up at him, your thoughts unraveling like spools of thread. In this week alone, he’s done so much more than you can ever thank him for. He didn’t have to vouch for you—you’re certain that others in his position wouldn’t have. He didn’t have to prepare you for the meeting by explaining the (apparently arbitrary) rules of etiquette. Maybe he was only doing his job, going up the chain of command because it was the only solution. But your chest swells with gratitude all the same, overwhelming you with the feeling.

“Papyrus, I-”

“I KNOW.”

No. He doesn’t. Appreciation is something that needs to be expressed. You collect yourself, pooling up your courage once again. “If there’s anything I can do to-”

“YOU DO NOT NEED TO.”

This time, you come to a full stop. You’ve never been one for confrontation, but there’s only one way to get through to him. You set your shoulders straight in the best impression of him that you can muster, planting your feet firmly on the floor. Every inch of you is put to use in making you as tall as you can be. You speak clearly and slowly, putting on a “Captain voice” of your own. It isn’t as authoritative as you had hoped, but you continue nonetheless.

“I know, but I want to. It’s the right thing to do.”

This stops him in his tracks. Slowly, he turns to look at you. Stubbornness has never been your strong suit, but in this particular instance, you can pretend. You hold yourself with steady confidence to match Papyrus’s own, maintaining eye contact even when he carefully inspects your face. Then, his expression shifts, the corners of his mouth twisting up in a smirk. You feel your face go red, your resolve quickly fading. There’s a reason you tend to play things on the quieter side of assertiveness; you must look completely ridiculous.

Without another word, he turns around and continues walking. You sigh, doing the same. As you exit down the steps of the palace, you swear to find a way to express your gratitude. You’ll have to play by his rules to do it, but you don’t mind. That’s something you know how to do.

* * *

“THIS IS WHERE I LEAVE YOU.”

Already? You must be more out of it than you thought. Your eyes briefly flick up towards the large city wall. The blocks of stone that create it are so large; you can’t imagine what it must’ve taken to build.

“I SUGGEST YOU GET SOME REST. IT HAS BEEN AN EVENTFUL DAY.”

You nod. “You as well, Captain.”

He turns to leave, but something seems to stop him. He coughs, pivoting to face you once again. His expression is strangely unreadable in a way you’ve only seen a few other times. It’s as if he flips a switch, exchanging all his usual passion for complete stoicism. Your pulse quickens as the sight.

“HUMAN, SINCE I WILL BE OUT OF TOWN SUPERVISING AN IMPORTANT MISSION, THERE WILL BE NO ONE TO ENSURE THAT MY HOME IS KEPT IN PEAK CONDITION. YOU HAVE EXPRESSED INTEREST IN COMPLETING A TASK OF MY CHOOSING, SO THIS IS MY ASSIGNMENT TO YOU. DO YOU ACCEPT?”

You stare at him, completely dumbfounded.

_It… worked?_

He groans, indicating to you that he’s still waiting for your response. “ANY DAY NOW.”

What? Oh!

You sputter out your acceptance, still slightly in shock. “Y-yes! O-Of course! I’d be happy to!”

“NATURALLY,” he scoffs. “I WILL SEND A LIST OF THE CHORES I EXPECT YOU TO COMPLETE ALONG WITH THE FREQUENCY YOU SHOULD COMPLETE THEM. I KNOW THAT I HAVE VERY HIGH STANDARDS, BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU SHOULDN’T TRY TO ACHIEVE THEM, EVEN IF YOU PHYSICALLY CANNOT. I AM DOING YOU A GREAT FAVOR IN ALLOWING YOU TO DO THIS SO DO NOT SCREW IT UP. ADDITIONALLY, I EXPECT YOU TO…”

You miss about half of what he’s saying due to the sheer speed at which he speaks. You would usually ask for clarification, but this time you decide not to worry about it; you’ve done enough of that for one day. Knowing him, any and all information will also be conveyed to you through a lengthy text message tomorrow morning anyway.

“…AND IF YOU FAIL I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU SO MAKE THE MOST OF THIS OPPORTUNITY.”

“Thank you, Sir.” It’s perhaps a touch too formal, but you find that when he’s giving you instructions or explaining how to do a specific technique, you can’t help but respond in that way. It’s probably something to do with the authoritative way in which he communicates information but you’re much too tired to analyze it now.

He smirks, pleased by your obedience. “OF COURSE.”

He turns to leave and you almost let him, but something inside you stirs and you catch his arm. You had almost forgotten.

“Papyrus?”

He seems to stop and turn on a dime, immediately giving you his complete and total focus. His red eye lights burn with that certain intensity that you’ve come to appreciate about him. You allow yourself a small smile.

“Please be careful Underground.”

He stares at you for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts. You watch as red begins to slowly creep into his cheekbones, illuminating his face in an otherworldly glow. It’s then that you realize you haven’t actually let go of his arm. All at once, you release your grasp, swiftly pulling your hand back towards you. He huffs, abruptly looking away from you.

“W-WHAT AN IDIOTIC REQUEST. ONLY A FOOL WOULD LET HIS GUARD DOWN AND I AM NO SUCH THING. B-BESIDES, I AM IN NO NEED OF PROTECTION. EVER. I-IF ANYTHING, _I_ SHOULD BE ORDERING _YOU_ TO BE CAREFUL! IN FACT! I THINK I WILL DO THAT! SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT!”

You only stare at him, too dumbfounded to even speak. Once he realizes you aren’t going to respond, he crosses his arms, floundering around for his next words.

“UH S-SO HUMAN! I COMMAND YOU TO RETURN TO YOUR RESIDENCE WITHOUT ISSUE. NOW.” And with that, he swiftly turns away, disappearing into the streets of Aboveground.

Yes, he is completely unlike anyone you have ever met. You wouldn’t want him any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! It turns out that taking 21 credits is very time consuming and with the semester wrapping up, I've been very busy. Thankfully, the end is in sight! Soon it will be summer and I'll have all the time in the world to practice and write and all of that fun stuff. 
> 
> I also wanted to thank all of you because your comments have been very encouraging to me. When I was feeling stuck with this chapter, I'd go through and read them all and they gave me the motivation to keep going. You've all been so supportive and I want you to know that I appreciate it :)
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this chapter and I'll see you at the next one!


End file.
